“I spoke casually enough,” he remembered years later, “but the phrase ‘I shall return’ seemed a promise of magic to the Filipinos”—and to the Americans still on Bataan and Corregidor. Now, however, he realized, although he could barely bring himself to admit it, that the hope was fading, and fading fast.10
Whatever else he and Jean said that night, he pledged to himself that somehow, some way, he would make that promise stick. He would make the return to the Philippines—and to the men he had been forced to abandon—the centerpiece of any strategy he evolved here in Australia.
But there was little time to think. He barely had time to catch a nap before the long, sleek train pulled into Melbourne station at 10:00 A.M. and Douglas MacArthur descended to the platform.
What greeted him was a roar of approval from a crowd of between 4,000 and 6,000 Australians, and a swarm of Australian officials, including Minister of the Army Francis M. D. Forde, plus an honor guard of 360 American soldiers and 60 reporters from Australian, American, and Dominion news sources.
MacArthur looked regal, as usual, “his jaunty garrison cap, glinting in the sun with golden oak leaves,” as one reporter described it, with “an old bush jacket, like a wind breaker, open at the throat and bare of his four shiny stars.” It was cold in Melbourne, much colder than he and Jean and the others were prepared for. Jean was shivering by the time they reached their hotel, despite the fur-trimmed coat she had carried in her luggage and a silk scarf Willoughby had given her.11
All along the way there were crowds, waving and screaming: “[I]t was their first taste of such boisterous demonstrations and it was a bit frightening,” Sid Huff remembered. Jean clutched Arthur close to her as the caravan made its way through the adoring throng. MacArthur said to Sid Huff, “take care of the family,” and then headed off for the first round of meetings that would introduce him to his Australian hosts, and introduce them to the MacArthur way of doing things.
Australians in March 1942 found themselves in a terrible fix, as they themselves might say. The Japanese attack on British possessions in Asia had been all too successful. Malaya, Singapore, Burma: one by one the bastions of empire had fallen, leaving Australia and New Zealand, the twin dominions in the Southern Hemisphere, dangerously exposed. The sinking of the Repulse and the Prince of Wales back in December signaled the end of any British naval deterrence in that part of the world. Australians were on their own, and had no resources to counter the steady, inexorable Japanese advance in their direction—or the bombs falling on northern cities like Darwin.
Then came news of MacArthur’s arrival, along with only a vague picture of what had happened in the Philippines, or of MacArthur’s ongoing battles with Roosevelt and Washington. Far from being “Dugout Doug,” or a general rescued by presidential order from a failed campaign, to Australians he seemed a paladin, a savior even, in a time of desperate need.
The Brisbane Courier wrote that his arrival “was stirring news, the best news Australians have had for many a day.” The Melbourne Herald wrote: “[T]he United States would not send its greatest contemporary soldier to a secondary war zone, and the fact that it regards Australia as a sphere of supreme importance is by far the most heartening circumstance which the Commonwealth ministers have encountered since Japan entered the war.” Minister Forde himself (later a severe MacArthur critic) was convinced that “MacArthur was the man who would influence his government along the right lines.”12
What MacArthur did not understand then or later was that his presence represented far more than the arrival of a great military leader on Australian soil (a fact that Douglas MacArthur would never deny). In his memoirs he would describe how he met with worried Australian military officials who showed him maps with three-quarters of the country abandoned to the Japanese, while a last-ditch defense was prepared behind the so-called Brisbane Line, all of which MacArthur dismissed with a swipe of his hand. “The concept was purely one of passive defense,” he recalled, “and I felt it would result only in eventual defeat.”13
In fact, the Australians were never quite so timid, or so naive. What they were really getting with MacArthur was an American pledge of unlimited support, the kind of outpouring of men, planes, ships, and war materiel that was already hurtling across the Atlantic to Britain; through the Arctic Circle to Russia; and over the Himalayas to China. Now they would be safe—and not just because General Douglas MacArthur had graced them with his presence.
But he did also grace them with his presence, both in his mind and theirs, starting that afternoon at the train station when he read a short statement.
“I am glad indeed to be in immediate cooperation with the Australian soldier,” he proclaimed. “I know him very well from the World War days and admire him greatly. I have every confidence in the ultimate success of our joint cause: but success in modern war requires something more than courage and a willingness to die; it requires careful preparation.”
He was telling them that it would be a long war and, given the paucity of war materiel he had and could expect, it would be a war of logistics as much as fighting and strategy. America and Australia would prevail, but “my success or failure will depend primarily upon the resources which the respective governments place at my disposal.”14
Meanwhile, it was clearly going to be a long, hard journey from Melbourne to Manila.
—
On March 26 MacArthur had his real coming-out party.
Henry Godman flew him to Canberra, the nation’s capital, for a lavish dinner in his honor hosted by Prime Minister John Curtin. It was the first time the two men had met. Curtin, who had risked everything in suggesting that MacArthur come to Australia to assume command of the combined American-Australian forces, was captivated by his charisma and confidence. MacArthur told the premier’s Advisory War Council that he didn’t think the Japanese had the strength to take North Australia (some might have pointed out that he hadn’t thought they could take the Philippines either) and that he believed the Germany First strategy that Roosevelt and the War Department had taken on was a mistake. Nonetheless, the chief job of the Allies was “to make Australia secure,” and he was going to do it.
But that would be only the first step toward a counteroffensive to retake the Philippines, he said. Since Prime Minister Curtin was also minister of defense, MacArthur suggested that they personally coordinate the joint Australian-American planning.15
Although Curtin had no military experience, he agreed, while the Advisory War Council became, in effect, Australia’s War Cabinet. As they left the meeting, MacArthur threw his arm over the prime minister’s shoulder and said, “You take care of the rear and I’ll take care of the front.” From that point on, Curtin would be MacArthur’s biggest fan outside his own staff, and he would defer to MacArthur’s judgment on everything, including war mobilization, far more than he would to his own military.16
The highlight of the dinner that night was a stunning announcement from the American ambassador. General MacArthur had just been awarded the Medal of Honor.
“For conspicuous leadership in preparing the Philippine Islands to resist conquest,” read the citation (George Marshall had drafted it himself), “for gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty in action against invading Japanese forces…He mobilized, trained, and led an army which has received world acclaim in men and arms. His utter disregard of personal danger under heavy fire and aerial bombardment, his calm judgment in each crisis, inspired his troops, galvanized the spirit of resistance of the Filipino people, and confirmed the faith of the American people in their armed forces.”17
The crowd rose to their feet and applauded. MacArthur must have been amazed, and chagrined. For once the impetus for America’s highest military honor had not come from him, but from General Marshall—and Congress. MacArthur’s fans in Congress had passed a resolution calling on President Roosevelt to give him the Medal of Honor—the first time Congress had ever prompted a president to make such an award.
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br /> Marshall had agreed. Marshall saw the Medal of Honor as a way to bolster the confidence of the American people as well as MacArthur. It was to make them feel that the eventual fall of the Philippines was a matter of heroic sacrifice rather than a humiliating loss, and to counter Axis propaganda that portrayed MacArthur as a coward who had abandoned his command.18
That was in fact the way MacArthur himself felt about what had happened. In his mind, he had won a Medal of Honor for deserting his command under orders. This was not what he would have wanted, not after Mexico twenty-eight years earlier, and certainly not after the Côte de Châtillon. But MacArthur accepted the award with a stoic face (interestingly, he doesn’t even allude to the incident in his memoirs) and then gave an emotional speech to the assembly that left few dry eyes, and no doubt that a great change had come to Australia’s situation in the war.
“There can be no compromise,” he told the guests in a voice thick with emotion. “We shall win or we shall die, and to this end I pledge the full resources of all the power of my mighty country and all the blood of my countrymen.” In fact, it was not a pledge that he had any authority to give. But it reassured Australians: come what may they were not going to lose or be conquered. And for Douglas MacArthur, the meetings and the dinner on March 26 marked his rebirth as commander and strategist after the Bataan debacle.19
—
“MacArthur is out of Philippine Islands,” Dwight Eisenhower wrote in his diary for March 19. “Now supreme commander of ‘SouthWest Pacific Area.’ The newspapers acclaim the move—the public has built itself a hero out of its own imagination. I hope he can do the miracles expected and predicted; we could use a few now.”20
Ike’s gloom was understandable. By the end of the month Japan had captured every objective for which it had gone to war. Malaya, Singapore, Hong Kong, the Dutch East Indies, and northern Borneo were in Japanese hands. The fall of Burma and the Philippines was only a matter of time.
For the Allies, especially the British and the Americans, the past five months had been one defeat after another. In addition to lost territory and the disaster at Pearl Harbor, British naval losses (taking into account ships lost in the European theater since November 1941), had left the once-great Royal Navy with only one modern battleship, the King George V, and two fleet carriers.21
Neither Britain nor America had ever fought a major war in the Pacific, nor had either ever fought an enemy who had better air and sea power. The old prewar planning assumption that still prevailed when Churchill and Roosevelt met in Washington on December 12, 1941, and American and British military leaders met at the so-called Arcadia Conference, that Britain and America could hold off the Japanese while fighting their main battles in Europe, was now clearly—perhaps fatally—out of date.
It was now apparent that three things would have to happen if the Allies were going to somehow reverse the tide of defeat.
First, there would have to be a massive reinforcement of ships, troops, and warplanes to prevent any further Japanese advance. Second, the United Kingdom and the United States would have to coordinate their operations in the Pacific and work out a common strategy—something that no one had attempted so far.
Third, the United States was going to have to take the lead in both, including in the Southwest Pacific. Britain had neither the industrial resources nor the bases in the region any longer to act as anything but a deputy to the Americans. Washington had always thought of that vast area of ocean as part of Britain’s global responsibility, including defending Australia. Now that was clearly impossible. The United States would have to step in, not just to halt any Japanese invasion of Australia but to take leadership of the entire Pacific war.22
That suited MacArthur. He saw himself as the man poised to assume both roles. Meanwhile, the generals and admirals back in Washington, the very ones he blamed for his recent debacle, were working around the clock to give him the power to make it happen.
How was America going to fight a war thousands of miles away in the Pacific? That was the problem the Joint Chiefs of Staff in Washington were pondering. Everyone understood the basic principle of unity of command, of having a single commander in chief. But the services couldn’t agree on who should get the nod. The navy was clearly going to dominate any strategy in the Pacific. Its ships and aircraft carriers would be essential to defeating Japan. By the same token, there was no way the navy would allow any army general to take command of its ships, and certainly not MacArthur. He had permanently poisoned his relationship with the navy brass during the Philippines campaign, with his constant complaints about their lack of support—lack of courage even.23
Likewise, there was no way that Army Chief of Staff George Marshall was going to agree to let an admiral, no matter how experienced or senior, tell the army what to do. Eisenhower’s view of Navy Chief Admiral Ernest King—“he’s the antithesis of cooperation, a deliberately rude person, which means he’s a mental bully…one thing that might help win this war is to get someone to shoot King”—was shared by many in the army, and was not too far removed from Marshall’s.24
So in the end the Joint Chiefs arrived at a compromise, and a split of command. Admiral Chester Nimitz would assume command over the vast reaches of the central Pacific, including the eastern approaches to Japan, with his headquarters at Pearl. MacArthur was picked to be supreme commander in what was dubbed the South West Pacific Area, or SWPA, including Australia and New Zealand, the Philippines and Dutch East Indies, Sumatra, and Borneo, in addition to the Solomon Islands and New Guinea—and an arc of ocean equal to the size of twenty-five Texases.25
Commanding and coordinating military campaigns in a theater this large was going to be a logistical nightmare, especially when the bulk of navy and civilian shipping was being directed across the Atlantic to Europe. At the same time, MacArthur would have to share what was left with Nimitz’s Pacific Oceans Area. In addition, Nimitz would retain overall control over all naval operations in both areas, even when they occurred in MacArthur’s backyard (only a small token force was under MacArthur’s direct command).26
This would be a constant source of friction and difficulty as the war went on—as was the fact that both MacArthur and Nimitz had to defer on matters of overall strategy to Washington, where the Joint Chiefs of Staff retained final say. This is in fact a vital point: at no time during the entire war was MacArthur allowed to plan and carry out strategy by himself. Everything had to pass through Washington for discussion and debate, including his plans for liberating the Philippines—and now his plans for organizing the defense of Australia.
In one sense, MacArthur didn’t care. For him, supreme command of the South West Pacific Area was the call of destiny as well as a personal crusade. The logistical problems, the lack of troops and resources, especially airplanes, and his divided, truncated authority—all these challenges paled in comparison to what he saw as his number one priority: defending Australia so he could launch his campaign to save the Philippines.
To do this, he decided, he would need three or four combat infantry divisions, a brace of aircraft carriers, and a marine amphibious division, in addition to a lot more aircraft than the 12 B-17s, 27 dive bombers, and 177 fighters he had on hand. Most of those fighters were either out of date or unserviceable, as were many of the planes in the two Royal Australian Air Force combat squadrons operating out of Darwin and the three based in New Guinea.27 But Washington had nothing to send. At the beginning of April 1942 only four army divisions had embarked for the entire Pacific theater, two of which were incomplete—and only one of those, the Forty-first, was headed for Australia.
That meant that whatever MacArthur was going to do that spring and summer, he would have to rely on his Australian allies. They were commanded by General Sir Thomas Blamey, a rotund, square-headed man who looked more like a pub owner than the Down Under version of Douglas MacArthur. Blamey had earned plaudits in World War One first as a combat officer, taking part in the Gallipoli campaign during the
bloody landings at Anzac Cove on April 25, 1915, then as a staff officer, both during the Gallipoli campaign and on the western front. Like MacArthur, he ended the war as a brigadier general; like MacArthur, he liked to lead midnight trench raids even as a staffer.
Also like MacArthur, Blamey had a keen interest in any new military innovations, like the tank, of which he was an early supporter, and he helped to form the Royal Australian Air Force between the wars. Finally, like MacArthur, Blamey knew the face of defeat against a technically superior, better-prepared enemy. After serving in the Western Desert commanding an Australian division, he had transferred to the debacle in Greece in 1941 where his soldiers’ subpar performance led him to organize an overhaul of Australian troop training. He then returned from the Middle East in March 1942 to take over as commander in chief, Australian Military Forces.
On paper, certainly, it was a sizable force of seven infantry divisions, one armored, and two motorized divisions—more than 104,000 soldiers in addition to 265,000 trained militia.28 For the SWPA, Blamey was prepared to supply three soldiers to every one of MacArthur’s Americans. He must have assumed he would have a major say in how they operated and where, while on April 9 George Marshall urged MacArthur to make sure that senior positions on his SWPA staff were given to Australian officers, on whom he would have to rely to do most of the fighting.29
Both Blamey and Marshall fully understood MacArthur’s need to rely on his own handpicked staff, especially in times of uncertainty. But both also underestimated his skill in outmaneuvering any possible rival for directing overall strategy. He had already taken the first step by becoming fast friends with Prime Minister John Curtin. The second came with co-opting Australian Defence Department head Fred Shedden. Indeed, Shedden’s diary provides a revealing record of MacArthur’s steady courtship of the prime minister and his War Cabinet, until in the end Curtin relied more on MacArthur for advice on how to run the Australian war effort than he did on his own generals.
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