Jitra was the decisive battle in Malaya. And the 11th Indian Division suffered a bloody defeat. By mid-December, the division’s 15th Indian Infantry Brigade was reduced to a quarter of its original size, the 28th Brigade to a third, and the 6th Brigade to about half. During the retreat the division also lost the bulk of its motor transport and equipment, ammunition and supplies.36 For weeks afterwards, the Japanese enjoyed the ‘Churchill rations’. More importantly, they now had air superiority in northern Malaya and naval superiority around the Malayan Peninsula and Singapore. Over the next fortnight, the Japanese used the same tactics – spiked with improvisations like the use of bicycles – in a three-pronged advance to push the defenders out of Kedah and Kelantan. Crasta saw
lorries and motorcycles moving at top speed, conveying defeated men, both Indian and British, retreating. They had apparently abandoned their armies. Groups of soldiers were retreating on foot, their faces aghast with fear, their clothes and boots tattered and torn. They appeared badly shaken. They had only a few words to say, words like: Oh, the Japanese are terrible. We are gone. There is no hope.37
By 23 December, the 11th Division was forced to fall back behind the Perak River. Two of its truncated brigades were clubbed together to form a new 6/15th Brigade. Murray-Lyon was also replaced as commander by Major General Archie Paris. However, the lack of experience and the deficiencies in training continued to tell on the troops’ performance. When the Japanese crossed the Perak River, the 6/15th Brigade put up a determined fight, but was forced eventually to withdraw south of the Slim River. General Percival sent a note on tactics to the 3rd Corps: ‘The enemy is trying to dislodge us from our positions by flanking and encircling movements and by attacks on our communications … We must play the enemy at his own game.’ These were academic instructions. As Colonel Stewart of the Argylls put it, ‘new techniques cannot be learnt in the middle of a battle’.38
As Indian and Australian formations retreated into Central Malaya, they began receiving reinforcements from home. When the 6/14th Punjab sailed into Singapore, it was immediately strafed and bombed by Japanese planes. ‘We were advised to immediately disembark’, recalled Sepoy Gurdial Singh. The troops left the ship with only their personal weapons: ‘there was no time to unload anything else’. A dozen Japanese planes dived in over the next hour and a half and destroyed the ships. The battalion lost all its stores and possessions. Gurdial found it ‘annoying [that] not a single British aircraft came to challenge the enemy’. Even the British troops around him were muttering ‘bloody Churchill’ under their breath. Realizing the adverse impact on morale, the British officers assured them: ‘Our aircraft are also coming.’ None did. When the unit reached the front line in Malaya, they were merely instructed to ‘follow the fighting tactics of the British troops already engaged in battle’. Gurdial felt it was ‘a peculiar situation, rumour mongering was rife. Many soldiers said why die in these far off lands and for what purpose.’ An NCO claimed that ‘internally arrangement had been reached with the Japanese’, that is, a tacit agreement had been struck that the Japanese would not harm the Indian soldiers. ‘Even Indian officers were in two minds.’39
The parlous state of morale and training resulted in a major fiasco at Slim River on the night of 6/7 January 1942. Two Indian brigades were wrecked by around a thousand Japanese troops supported by thirty tanks. The next day, the new supreme commander of the South-West Pacific Command arrived in Singapore. The hapless Wavell had yet again been given a sprawling command – worse for being multinational – in a seemingly impossible situation. After a debriefing at the 3rd Corps headquarters, he mumbled: ‘Well, I have never listened to a more garbled account of an operation.’ His ADC wrote in his diary: ‘I have never seen men look so tired.’ Wavell cabled London about his decision to pull out 3rd Corps from a fighting withdrawal. ‘Retreat does not bring out best qualities of Indian troops and men are utterly weary and completely bewildered by Japanese rapid encircling tactics, by enemy air bombing … and by lack of our own air support.’40
The plan was to make a ‘strategic retreat’ to northern Johore. It was in fact the beginning of the end. The 9th Indian Division was deployed in depth along the trunk road. The newly arrived 45th Indian Brigade (originally part of the 17th Indian Division) was also thrown into operations. The brigade had been equipped and trained for desert warfare and had been earmarked for Iraq before being diverted to Malaya. The troops found themselves fighting along the Muar River in northern Johore, and took a nasty beating at the hands of the Japanese. ‘The young Indian recruits were helpless’, wrote Percival. ‘They did not even know how to take cover and there were not enough officers to control them.’41 This was true enough, although the British and Australian troops were afflicted by the same set of problems – training, leadership, morale – as the Indians.
In subsequent operations, the remaining Indian brigades suffered further losses. By the time the withdrawal into Singapore was carried out on 30 January, it was clear that the Indian formations were no longer capable of resisting the enemy. Wavell wanted the Malaya Command to continue fighting for two months. The defence lasted for barely two weeks. When Singapore surrendered on 15 February 1942, the Japanese took around 55,000 Indian prisoners of war.
The fall of Singapore was a crushing blow to the prestige of the British Empire. For India, however, the disaster in Burma overshadowed the debacle in Malaya. India’s war would now have to be fought on its own frontiers. Worse still, it would have to be waged on a frontier that had been accorded the least priority in strategic plans and preparation. The sole consolation for New Delhi was that its army had not been entirely rounded-up by the Japanese and considerable numbers had survived to fight another day. Still, in many ways, the calamitous defeat in Burma mirrored the rout in Malaya.
To begin with, India’s complacency about an overland invasion of Burma matched that of the British leadership on Malaya. Even after the Japanese began encroaching in South-East Asia, the Raj had all but written off the possibility of a Japanese ground attack on Burma and had made scant preparation for such an eventuality. The commander of the Burma Army had insisted since 1939 that ‘on the Siamese [Thai] border there is not much scope for a larger force [than raiding parties] to attack Burma by land … I do not regard the land threat very seriously – air attack by Japan from Siamese aerodromes is the bigger danger.’42 The governor-general of Burma, Sir Reginald Dorman-Smith, believed that if the Japanese invaded his territory, the Burmese people would rise up in resistance. After a visit to Rangoon in October 1941, Wavell was persuaded by these judgements. He went so far as to believe that if the Japanese did risk an invasion of Burma, they would ‘get it in the neck’.43
Given the sheer size and topography of Burma, this was not an unreasonable supposition. Still, as in Malaya, weaknesses in the chain of command precluded the tough-minded testing of assumptions and clear apportioning of responsibility. Since late 1940, India had been pestering London to place Burma under its operational control rather than that of the Far East Command. Wavell personally took it up with the chiefs during a trip to London in September 1941 and continued to send a stream of cables on this matter. The cabinet, however, was solicitous of the constitutional status of Burma. Moreover, given the American interest in the Burma–China road it did not wish to complicate matters by bringing India into the frame.
Only four days after the Japanese attack on Malaya did the prime minister agree to place Burma under GHQ India’s control. ‘You must now look east’, Churchill cabled Wavell. ‘Burma is now placed under your command. You must resist the Japanese advance towards Burma and India.’ ‘We will do our best’, replied Wavell, ‘… in spite of nakedness of our air and anti-aircraft defences.’ Wavell remained fixated on the air defence of Burma. While Brooke-Popham agreed to transfer his air force in Burma to India’s command, he insisted that they should be available on call to him. Much thought and energy was also expended in copious telegrams between London, New Delhi and
Rangoon, trying to work out the constitutional relations between the governor-general of Burma and the commander-in-chief of India.44
Wavell appointed Lieutenant General Thomas Hutton as commander-in-chief in Burma. When Hutton took over, he had at his disposal the 1st Burma Division. Formed only in July 1941 and commanded by Major General James Bruce Scott, this division was made up of the 13th Indian Infantry Brigade and the 1st and 2nd Burma Brigades. The 1st Burma Division was headquartered at Toungoo and tasked with the defence of the Shan States in north-east Burma. The 16th Indian Infantry Brigade arrived in Burma in early December 1941. By early January 1942, two more Indian brigades – the 46th and 48th – along with the headquarters of the 17th Indian Division had reached Burma. These three brigades as well as the 2nd Burma Brigade – amounting to around 22,000 troops – formed the nucleus of the 17th Indian Division, tasked with the defence of the southern, Tenasserim region and commanded by Major General John Smyth.
The army in Burma was impressive only on paper. If anything, it was even worse prepared than the Malaya Command to fight the Japanese. The Burmese units had undergone considerable expansion since 1939. The Burma Rifles had doubled from four to eight battalions; new Frontier Force and Military Police units had also been raised. Traditionally, British officers from the British or Indian army were seconded to Burma for fixed tenures of four years. However, after 1939 the supply of officers could not keep up with the expansion of the Burmese units. Emergency Commissions were offered to British civilians already employed in Burma. While their knowledge of the language and terrain was excellent, the lack of military experience could not be masked.45
The condition of the Indian formations was wearily familiar. The 13th Indian Brigade had reached Rangoon in April 1941, milked heavily of experienced soldiers and officers, stripped of artillery and other supporting units. The brigade had done little training for jungle warfare in either India or Burma. Indeed, the 1st Burma Division did no collective training at all. GHQ India’s training pamphlet Forest Warfare was duly sent to Burma – only to be treated as ‘bumf’. As in Malaya, Hutton’s command headquarters showed little interest in organized training. A few commanding officers took the initiative to conduct unit-level exercises, but most battalions got no further than a jaunt around the local golf course. The 16th Infantry Brigade and other formations that arrived after December 1941 were equally inexperienced and ill-equipped. Of course, they had no time to train and were thrown on to the front immediately. General Smyth rightly observed that ‘this heterogeneous new 17th Division was a Division only in name’.46
Nevertheless, the 17th Division had to hold a 400-mile front of mountainous jungles in Tenasserim. Its lines of communication varied between execrable and non-existent. Yet this region was deemed vital to the defence of Rangoon and the Burma Road – and it was to be held until further reinforcements flowed in from India. Having set up his headquarters at Moulmein, Smyth trekked up the Pagoda-dotted ridge that overlooked the town. No sooner had he reached the top than he felt: ‘What an impossible place to defend with a small force! And what an even more impossible place from which to withdraw, as the only line of withdrawal was by river steamer across a broad expanse of water.’47 The thought would be echoed by many a commander in the weeks and months ahead.
Burma had not initially been prominent in the Japanese military plans for South-East Asia. The rapidity with which the defences of Malaya collapsed, though, led the Japanese to sense a similar opportunity in Burma. By capturing the country they hoped at once to seal the western periphery of the planned Co-Prosperity Sphere and to cut the Burma Road, which was being used by the Allies to supply the Chinese forces under Chiang Kai-shek. In retrospect it was clearly a grievous mistake to go for Burma. The country could have been a useful military buffer – one that would have forced the British rather than the Japanese to experience the horrors of extended logistical lines. But the maelstrom of war sucked the Japanese almost inexorably into Burma.
The much-awaited Japanese offensive, with a little over 25,000 troops, began on 20 January 1942. The 55th Division crossed the Thai border and struck towards Moulmein, while the 33rd Division advanced further north along the jungle tracks to the Salween River. The 16th Indian Brigade was badly knocked in an encounter at Kawkareik ahead of Moulmein. The Japanese typically sought to infiltrate and outflank the Indian defences. The brigade commander panicked and sought permission to withdraw. Although the brigade managed to demolish important roads and bridges, the withdrawal turned into a confused melee. As the official history notes: ‘The junior officers were quite panicky and the panic spread to the lower ranks also. They were all new to jungle fighting and the first day’s experience had shattered their nerves.’ Rumours travelled faster than the enemy: it was reported, for instance, that the Japanese were using gas.48
The withdrawal left the brigade in tatters. All transport and equipment, including the entire signals unit, was lost. Orders had also been given to destroy arms: soldiers even discarded their rifles. The morale of the troops was steeply depressed. Hutton sent a stirring Order of the Day to his forces on 27 January: ‘There must be no question of further withdrawal … All troops must understand that they must on no account give ground because the enemy have penetrated to their rear; these parties will be dealt with by other troops disposed in depth.’ It was too late. Three days later, the Japanese turned on Moulmein. Although some units performed creditably, others – especially the Burma Rifles – were diluted by large-scale desertions.49 Smyth knew that not only was morale low but Indian and Burmese soldiers mistrusted each other. In any case, he was always inclined to pull back from Moulmein to fight on the ground of his own choosing. Hutton reluctantly acquiesced in Smyth’s request to reel-in behind the Salween River.50
‘Take back all you have lost’, thundered Wavell when he reached the front line. Hutton placated him by promising to hold Martaban, on the north side of the river.51 The 17th Division was reinforced on this line by its 46th Indian Brigade. But the Japanese were able to ford the Salween rather easily. On 8 February they crossed the river, cut-off Martaban by a roadblock and captured the town the next day. Further north, the Japanese crossed the river unopposed near Pa-an. On the night of 11 February they attacked the 7/10th Baluch.
This newly raised battalion had reached Rangoon on 16 January. As with most Indian units, it was totally unready for fighting in the jungle. When the commanding officer inquired about training, a senior staff officer shot back: ‘Training – you can’t do any training because it is all bloody jungle.’ On reaching the operational area, the Baluchis sent out patrols to familiarize troops with the terrain. These were clumsy affairs: the patrols were too large and unwieldy, and the men hacked their way through the jungle, at once tiring themselves out and intimating their presence to the enemy.52 The Japanese attack began with shelling and airstrikes on the Baluch position. When the main attack came, the Baluchis found themselves surrounded by the infiltrating Japanese. The battalion put up a stern defence. Charlie Company, led by Captain Srikant Korla, was particularly tenacious in its resistance. But once the Baluchis decided to pull out, the Japanese made short work of them. When the battalion regrouped at the brigade headquarters the next morning, it counted five officers, three VCOs and sixty-five soldiers; 7/10th Baluch had more or less ceased to exist.53
Smyth now tried to regroup his division behind the Bilin River. But the river was no more than a ditch – hardly a suitable defensive position. The troops at his disposal included the 48th Indian Brigade, which had the most experienced Indian units in Burma: all three Gurkha battalions pre-dated the war. Inevitably, there were inexperienced units as well. The 5/17th Dogra, a new unit, was battered by the Japanese in an attack on 17 February. The battalion disintegrated and dispersed in confusion, losing most of its equipment and transport, and carrying with it the unnerved 8th Burma Rifles. Hutton realized that ‘if this battle should go badly enemy might penetrate the line of River Sittang without much difficulty and
evacuation of Rangoon would become imminent possibility’. Hence, he ordered Smyth to fight it out at Bilin by launching counter-attacks. The Indian forces were hardly up to the task and were easily repelled. On the morning of 19 February, Hutton permitted Smyth to pull his troops back behind the Sittang.54
That night the 17th Division disengaged and withdrew along a narrow track towards the Sittang River. The Japanese were more enterprising in pursuit. As ever, they abandoned the road and struck out through the jungle in small parties. Their boldness paid off. On 22 February, they caught the 17th Division on the hop as it sought to cross the Sittang bridge. Smyth was forced to order a premature demolition of the bridge, even though the bulk of his troops were on the wrong bank. Those trapped on the far side had little option but to surrender or swim across the fast-flowing, quarter-mile-wide river. Just about 3,500 officers and men made it with little more than their personal weapons. The 17th Division effectively ceased to be a fighting force. And the road to Rangoon was wide open.
On 27 February, Dorman-Smith, the governor-general, cabled Linlithgow: ‘This is the last message I will send from Rangoon until we have recaptured it … nothing short of a seasoned army could retrieve the Sittang situation. Our troops have fought very well but they are worn out … Rangoon will have to be evacuated tomorrow.’55 Wavell thought otherwise. He flew to Burma the next day and met Dorman-Smith and Hutton. He was beside himself with anger. He stormed at Hutton for his alleged defeatism and ordered him to hold Rangoon for as long as possible. Hutton felt that if Wavell had his way, the Japanese would trap the entire Burma Army in Rangoon. But he chose to stay quiet. Meanwhile, Smyth sent a request to withdraw his forces to Pegu. So enraged was Wavell that he drove down the country track to Smyth’s headquarters and personally relieved him of his command. His deputy, David ‘Punch’ Cowan, was asked to take over the division.56
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