Retribution_ The Battle For Japan, 1944-45 Part 3

But first it was necessary to find the enemy. A British officer noted that when his soldiers dug a foxhole, a pile of earth rose around it: "With the j.a.panese, you could never see138 that soil had been moved." A Borderer in Raymond Cooper's company that soil had been moved." A Borderer in Raymond Cooper's company139 was astonished to hear a "woodp.e.c.k.e.r"-a slow-firing j.a.panese light machine gun-chattering under his feet. Without noticing, he had stepped onto an enemy bunker. Cecil Daniels's platoon of the Buffs, advancing warily through the jungle, received their first intimation of the enemy "when there was a sudden bang and the sergeant who had been walking by the side of and slightly in front of me went down like a log. Firing seemed to break out all around. A shout of 'Stretcher-bearer' went out, but I shouted 'No need' as I could see that he was already dead, twitching in the throes of involuntary muscle convulsion. He wasn't breathing." The company runner, "Deuce" Adams, shouted: "Look out, there's a b.l.o.o.d.y j.a.p." Somebody shouted: "Take him prisoner." Someone else shouted: "b.a.l.l.s." Adams emptied a tommy-gun magazine apparently into empty ground, at point-blank range. The other men could see nothing. When they closed in on Adams, they found him peering into a foxhole containing a dead j.a.panese soldier. "He smelt pretty much was astonished to hear a "woodp.e.c.k.e.r"-a slow-firing j.a.panese light machine gun-chattering under his feet. Without noticing, he had stepped onto an enemy bunker. Cecil Daniels's platoon of the Buffs, advancing warily through the jungle, received their first intimation of the enemy "when there was a sudden bang and the sergeant who had been walking by the side of and slightly in front of me went down like a log. Firing seemed to break out all around. A shout of 'Stretcher-bearer' went out, but I shouted 'No need' as I could see that he was already dead, twitching in the throes of involuntary muscle convulsion. He wasn't breathing." The company runner, "Deuce" Adams, shouted: "Look out, there's a b.l.o.o.d.y j.a.p." Somebody shouted: "Take him prisoner." Someone else shouted: "b.a.l.l.s." Adams emptied a tommy-gun magazine apparently into empty ground, at point-blank range. The other men could see nothing. When they closed in on Adams, they found him peering into a foxhole containing a dead j.a.panese soldier. "He smelt pretty much140, a sickly spicy smell such as all j.a.ps seemed to have."

The suddenness and savagery of such encounters made a profound impression on every man who experienced them, especially at night. The 25th Dragoons, an armoured unit, never forgot a moonless moment in the Arakan when the j.a.panese broke into their main dressing station: "The screams of the patients141, doctors and medical staff as they were shot and bayoneted, the blood-curdling yells of the attacking j.a.ps through the night, was for all of us a nightmarish experience...This brutality and inhuman behaviour...affected us profoundly." Some British commanders favoured fighting whenever possible in daylight, because they acknowledged j.a.panese mastery of darkness. Maj. John Hill's men of the Berks.h.i.+res were disgusted to find human body parts in the haversacks of dead enemy soldiers. They knew nothing of the cultural importance to every j.a.panese of returning some portion of a dead comrade's body to his homeland. "The war in Burma was fought142 with a savagery that did not happen in the Western desert, Italy or north-west Europe," wrote John Randle of the Baluchis. "I never once recall burying j.a.p dead. If there were sappers about, they were simply bulldozed into pits. Otherwise we shoved them into nullahs for the jackals and vultures to dispose of." with a savagery that did not happen in the Western desert, Italy or north-west Europe," wrote John Randle of the Baluchis. "I never once recall burying j.a.p dead. If there were sappers about, they were simply bulldozed into pits. Otherwise we shoved them into nullahs for the jackals and vultures to dispose of."

By the autumn of 1944, courage, ruthlessness and fieldcraft were the princ.i.p.al a.s.sets remaining to the forces of Nippon. The Allies were overwhelmingly superior by every other measure of strength. Yet a War Office report based on prisoner interrogation noted that "the j.a.panese still considers himself143 a better soldier than his opposite number on the British side...because [we] avoid close combat, never attack by night and are 'afraid to die.'" The author of this doc.u.ment recorded with some dismay that the j.a.panese thought less of British soldiers than of Indians or Gurkhas, and considered Fourteenth Army ponderous and slow-moving. They respected British tank, artillery and air support, but criticised their camouflage, fieldcraft and noisiness. a better soldier than his opposite number on the British side...because [we] avoid close combat, never attack by night and are 'afraid to die.'" The author of this doc.u.ment recorded with some dismay that the j.a.panese thought less of British soldiers than of Indians or Gurkhas, and considered Fourteenth Army ponderous and slow-moving. They respected British tank, artillery and air support, but criticised their camouflage, fieldcraft and noisiness.

Since 1941, however, the British and Indian armies had learned a lot about jungle fighting. First, dense cover and chronically limited views made conventional European tactics redundant: "All experience...has demonstrated144 the utter futility of a formal infantry attack supported by artillery concentrations and barrages against j.a.p organised jungle positions," wrote Frank Messervy, commanding 7th Indian Division. "The dominating a.s.sets are good junior leaders and skilful infantry. The right answers...are infiltration and encirclement." In early encounters with the j.a.panese, the British repeatedly allowed themselves to be outflanked, and a.s.sumed a battle lost if the enemy reached their rear. By 1944, men understood that in jungle war there were no such comfortable places as "rear areas," nor such privileged people as non-combatants. the utter futility of a formal infantry attack supported by artillery concentrations and barrages against j.a.p organised jungle positions," wrote Frank Messervy, commanding 7th Indian Division. "The dominating a.s.sets are good junior leaders and skilful infantry. The right answers...are infiltration and encirclement." In early encounters with the j.a.panese, the British repeatedly allowed themselves to be outflanked, and a.s.sumed a battle lost if the enemy reached their rear. By 1944, men understood that in jungle war there were no such comfortable places as "rear areas," nor such privileged people as non-combatants.

Every man of the support arms must be trained to fight, and all-round defence was essential. Units had to be untroubled by encirclement. At night, anywhere within enemy artillery or mortar range, each man dug a "keyhole," a slit thirty inches deep and six feet long, sufficient to protect him from anything but a direct hit. The British had a healthy respect for the enemy's skills: "The j.a.p selects the most unlikely145 line of approach...irrespective of the steepness of the slope or difficulties of terrain," noted General Gracey in tactical instructions to his division. "He hopes to overrun the forward edge of a position by surprise. To this end, he crawls up very quietly and patiently to our wire. His fieldcraft is excellent." line of approach...irrespective of the steepness of the slope or difficulties of terrain," noted General Gracey in tactical instructions to his division. "He hopes to overrun the forward edge of a position by surprise. To this end, he crawls up very quietly and patiently to our wire. His fieldcraft is excellent."

Movement was hampered by limited vision and poor maps. So much landscape looked alike. Patrols found themselves lost for hours, even days. Captain Joe Jack of 3/1st Gurkhas wandered fifteen miles at the head of his company before finding himself back where he started. In thick jungle, a mile an hour could represent good progress. Squads "froze" to verify the significance of every sound. In an advancing file, the first man was trained to look forward, the second right, the third left, the fourth to the rear. Rest was a luxury. Five hours' sleep in twenty-four, day after day, was not an unusual quota. The two commonest adjectives among British soldiers were "smas.h.i.+ng" and "deadly," the latter often applied to their rations-soya sausages, baked beans, bully beef and Spam, "compo" biscuits, jam, tea and porridge, heated on meths blocks. Even if men seldom suffered serious hunger, food was always short. A rum ration was sometimes parachuted in, but in that climate beer would have been more popular. South Africanmade boots and Australian socks proved best suited to cope with jungle conditions.

Light artillery, often the only available fire support for Slim's infantry, was useful for keeping the enemy's heads down, but unlikely to kill. Short-range weapons such as tommy guns and grenades were most valued. Whereas in Europe artillery and automatic fire dominated the battlefield, in Burma marksmans.h.i.+p mattered. An unaimed bullet was likely to damage only vegetation. Communication was problematic, because portable radios seldom worked. It was hard to see hand signals from officers or NCOs. Intensive training was essential, to make men respond instinctively to emergencies.

"It seemed a terribly old-fas.h.i.+oned146 kind of war," wrote one of Slim's soldiers, "far closer to the campaign my great-uncle fought when he went with Roberts to Kandahar than to what was happening in Europe." Douglas Gracey, commanding 20th Indian Division, summarised differences between operations in Burma and Europe: lack of good road and rail communications, endless water, jungles and swamps which limited movement, "but NOT to such an extent as kind of war," wrote one of Slim's soldiers, "far closer to the campaign my great-uncle fought when he went with Roberts to Kandahar than to what was happening in Europe." Douglas Gracey, commanding 20th Indian Division, summarised differences between operations in Burma and Europe: lack of good road and rail communications, endless water, jungles and swamps which limited movement, "but NOT to such an extent as147 inexperienced commanders and troops think." Visibility was drastically reduced, and vehicles wore out fast. " inexperienced commanders and troops think." Visibility was drastically reduced, and vehicles wore out fast. "Every j.a.panese in a defensive position must be dealt with. He will fight to the death even when severely wounded." Gracey concluded, however, with a fierce homily against allowing these considerations to induce defeatism: "Explode the j.a.p bogey and the jungle bogey. We are all round better than the j.a.p." By the winter of 1944 this was true, chiefly because Slim's men had more of everything. j.a.panese in a defensive position must be dealt with. He will fight to the death even when severely wounded." Gracey concluded, however, with a fierce homily against allowing these considerations to induce defeatism: "Explode the j.a.p bogey and the jungle bogey. We are all round better than the j.a.p." By the winter of 1944 this was true, chiefly because Slim's men had more of everything.

Even when Fourteenth Army was winning battles, it never entirely conquered its other great enemy, disease. Many men disliked the marble-sized mepacrine tablets of which a daily dosage prevented malaria, at the cost of turning their skin yellow. In 194243, tablets were often discarded-not least by men who preferred malaria to combat-and perhaps also by a few who believed j.a.panese propaganda that they rendered a man impotent. By 1944, most units held parades to ensure that mepacrine was ingested as well as issued. Men were ordered never to expose more flesh than necessary after nightfall. In the conditions of the Burmese jungle, however, chronically inimical to human health, sickness caused more losses than gunfire. A six-month breakdown of148 20th Indian Division's losses showed 2,345 battle casualties, and a further 5,605 non-battle hospital admissions. The latter included 100 accidents, 321 minor injuries, 210 skin diseases, 205 venereal, 170 psychiatric, 1,118 malaria and typhus, 697 dysentery. 20th Indian Division's losses showed 2,345 battle casualties, and a further 5,605 non-battle hospital admissions. The latter included 100 accidents, 321 minor injuries, 210 skin diseases, 205 venereal, 170 psychiatric, 1,118 malaria and typhus, 697 dysentery.

Insects laid their curse upon man and mule. Fires were lit in bivouacs whenever security allowed, to keep mosquitoes at bay. A British surgeon described the difficulty of addressing patients: "One orderly was deputed149 to deal with the flies. He chased them off the instruments, the sterile dressing, the blood-soaked blanket, clothing and stretcher of the patient, the very wound itself, and swatted them as they tickled the defenceless, half-naked operator." Chronic skin and foot infections, hepat.i.tis, water rendered distasteful by purifying tablets, clothing never dry or clean were the lot of every infantryman. Nor were tank crews more comfortable. In a steel box, sweat poured down men's torsos into the sodden waistbands of their shorts. Often it was impossible to clamber on the hot hull without using rags to protect skin, and especially knees. Crews were coated in dust, and breathed through handkerchiefs tied over mouths and noses. When a tank's main armament fired, the stink of cordite lingered in the turret. There was noise, perpetual noise. John Leyin's crew sang to deal with the flies. He chased them off the instruments, the sterile dressing, the blood-soaked blanket, clothing and stretcher of the patient, the very wound itself, and swatted them as they tickled the defenceless, half-naked operator." Chronic skin and foot infections, hepat.i.tis, water rendered distasteful by purifying tablets, clothing never dry or clean were the lot of every infantryman. Nor were tank crews more comfortable. In a steel box, sweat poured down men's torsos into the sodden waistbands of their shorts. Often it was impossible to clamber on the hot hull without using rags to protect skin, and especially knees. Crews were coated in dust, and breathed through handkerchiefs tied over mouths and noses. When a tank's main armament fired, the stink of cordite lingered in the turret. There was noise, perpetual noise. John Leyin's crew sang150 "The bells are ringing, for me and my gal" as their Lee lumbered into action, knowing that neither friend nor foe could hear the chorus above the roar of its engine. "The bells are ringing, for me and my gal" as their Lee lumbered into action, knowing that neither friend nor foe could hear the chorus above the roar of its engine.

Another tankman, Tom Grounds, described the aftermath of battle: "Back in harbour we faced151 the bleak task of getting the dead men out...I shall not forget the burned and wizened, half-crushed head of the loader. In shocked silence they were pa.s.sed through the side-hatch and lowered to the ground. We dug two graves near the side of the hill...Padre Wallace c.o.x conducted a short service, and rough wooden crosses were put up. White ants would soon have eaten the crosses and the jungle grown over the graves." the bleak task of getting the dead men out...I shall not forget the burned and wizened, half-crushed head of the loader. In shocked silence they were pa.s.sed through the side-hatch and lowered to the ground. We dug two graves near the side of the hill...Padre Wallace c.o.x conducted a short service, and rough wooden crosses were put up. White ants would soon have eaten the crosses and the jungle grown over the graves."

Like every battlefield, Burma demanded instant decisions about life and death. One day Col. Derek Horsford of 4/1st Gurkhas found his medical officer bent over a casualty with half his intestines trailing out of his abdomen. In his agony, the man was clawing mud from the ground and stuffing it into the wound. "Has he got a chance?152" Horsford demanded. The medical officer shook his head. "Give him an overdose of morphine." A year later, the man amazed them all by writing from Nepal not only to report his survival, but to thank his officers for saving him. In attacks, junior leaders learned to be ruthless about leaving wounded where they lay, to await designated stretcher-bearers: otherwise there were far too many volunteers eager to escape carnage by carrying casualties to the rear.

Discipline was summarily enforced. A saddler with an Indian Army153 mountain artillery unit asked for some grenades, to protect himself in the event of a j.a.panese night attack. Instead, however, he deposited one in the bunk of a sergeant-major, killing him, and threw a second which wounded a British officer. It emerged that the man had a grievance about pay. After a swift trial, he was shot by firing squad. When John Hill's company of the Berks.h.i.+res was approached by j.a.panese who got alarmingly close before being challenged, it emerged that two sentries had been asleep. On waking and seeing the j.a.panese, they simply abandoned their position and fled. Hill had one man court-martialled and sentenced to two years' detention, because it seemed essential to drive home the message that such lapses cost lives. mountain artillery unit asked for some grenades, to protect himself in the event of a j.a.panese night attack. Instead, however, he deposited one in the bunk of a sergeant-major, killing him, and threw a second which wounded a British officer. It emerged that the man had a grievance about pay. After a swift trial, he was shot by firing squad. When John Hill's company of the Berks.h.i.+res was approached by j.a.panese who got alarmingly close before being challenged, it emerged that two sentries had been asleep. On waking and seeing the j.a.panese, they simply abandoned their position and fled. Hill had one man court-martialled and sentenced to two years' detention, because it seemed essential to drive home the message that such lapses cost lives.

Burma offered no chateaux or champagne to senior officers. Slim's chief of staff, Brig. John Lethbridge, described to his wife rats eating the soap in his "basha" and running over his bed at night; his sense of loneliness and remoteness; gnawing uncertainty about how long the campaign might continue. He begged for news of his garden in western England. "This place is vile in October. The sun is sucking up all the vile humours out of the stinking ground, and one sweats and sweats. I have ten GSO1s under me, and five are in hospital with malaria or dysentery, some with both!" Slim, paying a night visit to the headquarters map room, found himself almost stepping on a deadly krait. Thereafter, in that snake-ridden country, he used a torch fastidiously.

If such things were so for red-tabbed staff officers, conditions were infinitely harsher for men living, eating and sleeping within shot of the enemy. "Perhaps the reason why the old soldier154 is reputed to dramatise his story," wrote Raymond Cooper, "is because he cannot create for those who do not know 'the tiny stuffless voices of the dark,' nor can he fully explain the change in the vital values of the ordinary things of life. The contrast is too great." Victory at Imphal and Kohima had done much for the morale of Slim's army, but remoteness from home was a corrosive force. Private Cecil Daniels, a twenty-three-year-old former Kent shop-worker, began his military service as an Aldershot mess waiter in 1939, became an officer's batman, served in the Western Desert and Persia. By the winter of 1944 he had become an infantryman with the 2nd Buffs in Burma. Like so many others, this simple young man found himself bemused by the extraordinary experiences which befell him, so far from home. One night in his foxhole beside a paG.o.da, he lay awake gazing at the moon. "The thought went through my head is reputed to dramatise his story," wrote Raymond Cooper, "is because he cannot create for those who do not know 'the tiny stuffless voices of the dark,' nor can he fully explain the change in the vital values of the ordinary things of life. The contrast is too great." Victory at Imphal and Kohima had done much for the morale of Slim's army, but remoteness from home was a corrosive force. Private Cecil Daniels, a twenty-three-year-old former Kent shop-worker, began his military service as an Aldershot mess waiter in 1939, became an officer's batman, served in the Western Desert and Persia. By the winter of 1944 he had become an infantryman with the 2nd Buffs in Burma. Like so many others, this simple young man found himself bemused by the extraordinary experiences which befell him, so far from home. One night in his foxhole beside a paG.o.da, he lay awake gazing at the moon. "The thought went through my head155 that this same moon had been s.h.i.+ning over the home of my family not so very many hours before, and I wondered what they were doing at this same moment, and what thoughts they were having of me." that this same moon had been s.h.i.+ning over the home of my family not so very many hours before, and I wondered what they were doing at this same moment, and what thoughts they were having of me."

Though the army's morale was high, said a War Office report dated 31 June 1944, "infidelity of soldiers' wives156 is still a grave problem." A company commander of 9th Borderers described an encounter a few minutes before an attack: "Waiting in the dark is still a grave problem." A company commander of 9th Borderers described an encounter a few minutes before an attack: "Waiting in the dark157 for reports to reach me that all were ready, I was approached by a man who blurted out in a hurried whisper that by that morning's mail his wife had asked for a divorce. 'I'll talk to you about it in the morning' seemed an inept reply to a man in his frame of mind, with five hundred j.a.ps between him and the sunrise." The regular morale report on British forces overseas, compiled for the War Office by Brig. John Sparrow, a.s.serted in November 1944: "Anxiety about domestic affairs for reports to reach me that all were ready, I was approached by a man who blurted out in a hurried whisper that by that morning's mail his wife had asked for a divorce. 'I'll talk to you about it in the morning' seemed an inept reply to a man in his frame of mind, with five hundred j.a.ps between him and the sunrise." The regular morale report on British forces overseas, compiled for the War Office by Brig. John Sparrow, a.s.serted in November 1944: "Anxiety about domestic affairs158 is rife among the troops, particularly long-serving men. Nine times out of ten it is caused by selfish women. Few officers or men feel completely secure. In one unit both the CO and RSM asked privately for my advice about their matrimonial troubles." is rife among the troops, particularly long-serving men. Nine times out of ten it is caused by selfish women. Few officers or men feel completely secure. In one unit both the CO and RSM asked privately for my advice about their matrimonial troubles."

Mountbatten told the army's Morale Committee that the average British soldier "does not like India or Burma159, and never will. The country, the climate and people are alike repugnant to him." Sparrow's report noted continuing concern among British commanders overseas about "deliberate" desertions by some of their men-as distinct from drunken leave overstays and suchlike. "All seemed agreed," wrote Sparrow to the adjutant-general, "that re-introduction of the death penalty would be the only satisfactory deterrent...It was generally realised, however, at any rate by staffs and senior officers, that [this] is not practical politics." After a few months in Burma, John Hill of the Berks.h.i.+res concluded that about 25 percent of his men were potentially brave, about 5 percent potential cowards, and the remainder neither. This seems a fair, indeed generous, valuation of most Allied units in the Second World War.

The strangest elements of Slim's army-in the eyes of posterity, if not of those who grew up amid the exotic panoply of Empire-were two divisions recruited from Britain's African colonies. The War Office, chronically short of manpower, was seized by a belief that jungle warfare would suit Africans; this though most had never seen such terrain in their lives. What can have been the thought processes of such men, some from the remotest bush country, who found themselves s.h.i.+pped halfway across the world, albeit as volunteers, to serve in a white man's war for less than half the pay a white man received, against an enemy with whom a Nigerian, Kenyan or Tanganyikan could have no conceivable quarrel? Non-Christians among them had sworn an oath of loyalty on cold steel, usually a bayonet, rather than upon the Bible.

The West African Division's commander, Hugh Stockwell, circulated an angry memorandum when he heard that some white officers had spoken scornfully of the men they commanded: "I get reports that certain officers160 and British ORs...have, in idle conversation, been considerably indiscreet in their remarks about the capability of the African soldier in battle...Any who talk in such a way merely 'foul their own nest.' I myself consider that it takes a great deal of moral courage to set the African the example he deserves or give him the leaders.h.i.+p which is so necessary. I hope that you have the guts that your breeding as a Britisher should give you to overcome your difficulties." and British ORs...have, in idle conversation, been considerably indiscreet in their remarks about the capability of the African soldier in battle...Any who talk in such a way merely 'foul their own nest.' I myself consider that it takes a great deal of moral courage to set the African the example he deserves or give him the leaders.h.i.+p which is so necessary. I hope that you have the guts that your breeding as a Britisher should give you to overcome your difficulties."

Stockwell warned that he would court-martial any officer deemed guilty of "defeatism." In correspondence with higher commanders, however, he admitted that some of his units had performed poorly, especially when subjected to j.a.panese night attacks. The African, he wrote, "has not a fighting history, and as a rule therefore battle does not come naturally." Some men had proved very good soldiers, "but others are very, very 'bush'...[The African] moves stealthily when on patrol, but cannot react quickly to any sudden emergency, again due to an inherent dislike of the unknown and lack of intelligence which precludes quick thinking. He has a doglike devotion to his leaders he can trust and admire, and who respect him...The whole fighting potential of the Division is in the hands of the European officers and NCOs." Stockwell deplored the poor quality161 of many of these. Some units were officered by Polish exiles, who had been encouraged by Churchill to emigrate to West Africa. Most of these Poles spoke the same pidgin English as their men. Stockwell was obliged to report to 11 Army Group on 4 August 1944 that "a small outbreak of desertion of many of these. Some units were officered by Polish exiles, who had been encouraged by Churchill to emigrate to West Africa. Most of these Poles spoke the same pidgin English as their men. Stockwell was obliged to report to 11 Army Group on 4 August 1944 that "a small outbreak of desertion162 or absenteeism among native West African troops has been found to be due...to a belief...that if they can get to Calcutta they will be able to join units of the USAAF as labourers or servants. Steps are being taken to refute this idea." or absenteeism among native West African troops has been found to be due...to a belief...that if they can get to Calcutta they will be able to join units of the USAAF as labourers or servants. Steps are being taken to refute this idea."

Col. Derek Horsford observed that though his Gurkhas had little regard for the unfortunate Africans as fighting soldiers-"they would go out on patrol163 only if you held their hands"-they were impressed by other attributes. "During the advance into the Kabaw valley, I found some of our chaps crouching behind a bush, watching a party of West African soldiers bathing. The Gurkhas were gazing fascinated, uttering exclamations of unwilling awe, at what they perceived as the extravagant dimensions of their black comrades' private parts." There was much bitterness after the war that in Slim's expressions of grat.i.tude to his soldiers, he never mentioned the Africans. Some British officers evinced deep admiration for them. They cited examples such as that of Private Kewku Pong, a Gold Coaster wounded and left for dead when his unit was overrun by the j.a.panese. Pong found an abandoned Bren gun and kept firing until overcome by loss of blood. The British discovered him next day, just alive, still clutching the b.u.t.t of his gun. He was awarded the Military Medal. A British chronicler wrote of Pong: "On his own, in the dark only if you held their hands"-they were impressed by other attributes. "During the advance into the Kabaw valley, I found some of our chaps crouching behind a bush, watching a party of West African soldiers bathing. The Gurkhas were gazing fascinated, uttering exclamations of unwilling awe, at what they perceived as the extravagant dimensions of their black comrades' private parts." There was much bitterness after the war that in Slim's expressions of grat.i.tude to his soldiers, he never mentioned the Africans. Some British officers evinced deep admiration for them. They cited examples such as that of Private Kewku Pong, a Gold Coaster wounded and left for dead when his unit was overrun by the j.a.panese. Pong found an abandoned Bren gun and kept firing until overcome by loss of blood. The British discovered him next day, just alive, still clutching the b.u.t.t of his gun. He was awarded the Military Medal. A British chronicler wrote of Pong: "On his own, in the dark164 of the night, quite badly wounded, with...j.a.panese rampaging behind him. No Britisher to tell him what to do, no African NCO, no other African; he ought to have been hopeless and helpless, and no one probably would have blamed him if he had discreetly gone to ground until all was quiet...Did Slim ever hear of Kewku Pong?" of the night, quite badly wounded, with...j.a.panese rampaging behind him. No Britisher to tell him what to do, no African NCO, no other African; he ought to have been hopeless and helpless, and no one probably would have blamed him if he had discreetly gone to ground until all was quiet...Did Slim ever hear of Kewku Pong?"

In November 1944, Sierra Leonean troops had to carry fifty stretcher cases over the Pidaung hill range. A British officer wrote: "Bamboo ladders were built165 to get the stretchers up the rock face...Nothing...will ever compare with the perilous descent from the 2,300-foot escarpment...The European and senior African NCOs went out with torches and guided the column in...By the light of bamboo flares the stretchers were pa.s.sed hand over hand down the cliff faces, some Africans going on hands and knees to form a human bridge over the worst places. The last stretcher case was safely in the advanced dressing station by 9:30 that night, after fifteen hours on the march." to get the stretchers up the rock face...Nothing...will ever compare with the perilous descent from the 2,300-foot escarpment...The European and senior African NCOs went out with torches and guided the column in...By the light of bamboo flares the stretchers were pa.s.sed hand over hand down the cliff faces, some Africans going on hands and knees to form a human bridge over the worst places. The last stretcher case was safely in the advanced dressing station by 9:30 that night, after fifteen hours on the march."

Radio Tokyo denounced the African divisions as "cannibals led by European fanatics." Yet perhaps the most convincing and pa.s.sionate testimonial to their contribution is that of one of their officers, Maj. Denis Cookson: "Without a murmur of complaint166 they defended a country whose inhabitants they despised, in a quarrel whose implications they did not understand. They had volunteered to fight for the British, and if the British brought them to a wilderness, that was a sufficient reason. They squatted down in their trenches, polished the leather charms they wore next to the skin, prayed to Allah for his protection, and good-humouredly got on with the job." They deserved more grat.i.tude from their imperial masters than they received. they defended a country whose inhabitants they despised, in a quarrel whose implications they did not understand. They had volunteered to fight for the British, and if the British brought them to a wilderness, that was a sufficient reason. They squatted down in their trenches, polished the leather charms they wore next to the skin, prayed to Allah for his protection, and good-humouredly got on with the job." They deserved more grat.i.tude from their imperial masters than they received.

Behind the infantry of both sides toiled one of the most extraordinary gatherings of pack animals ever mustered with a modern army. Only beasts could cover mountainous ground, especially during and after the monsoon. White bullocks were dyed green, to render them less conspicuous targets. British soldiers found themselves receiving special training as mule handlers, and many grew fond of their charges. All ranks had to be carefully instructed in packing saddles, for overloading caused girth sores, or worse. The four mules designated for an infantry rifle company headquarters, for instance, could carry 158 pounds apiece. A typical load was expressed in regulations as 1 signal pistol; 2 two-inch mortars plus 18 bombs; 500 rounds of .303 ammunition and 1,000 rounds of 9mm Sten. The Indian Army's mountain batteries' light guns were dismantled for mule portage. Their British officers were also issued with chargers, which rather than riding most used to carry personal effects-blanket, mosquito net, rifle in a saddle bucket. When supplies were air-dropped, these included corn in vast quant.i.ties for the pack train.

Beyond mules, j.a.panese and British alike exploited elephants. The animals and their local riders-"oozies," as they were known-had been employed before the war in Burma's teak forests. Slim's tusker supremo was Lt. Col. Bill Williams, a First World War Camel Corps veteran who had been handling elephants for the Burma-Bombay Trading Corporation since 1920. "Elephant Bill" adored his charges, and worked devotedly not only to make them serviceable to the British cause, but also to protect the animals' interests. In the winter of 1944 he led a force of 147 elephants across the Chindwin, reinforcing his herd with abandoned j.a.panese beasts as the army advanced. Although, surprisingly, each elephant could carry little more than a mule's load, their bridge-building skills were much in demand. It was an awesome sight, to see an elephant lift in its trunk a log weighing a quarter of a ton. The great animals built 270 crossings for Fourteenth Army. Men sometimes glimpsed, for instance, a broken-down amphibious DUKW being towed by a tusker. John Randle's unit was impressed by the elephants provided to carry its heavy mortars, but dismayed to find them eating their camouflage foliage.

The best "oozies" were what Williams called "real Burmans, the Irishmen of the East," inveterate gamblers who cared as much as he did for their animals. Some were careless, however, causing terrible suffering by allowing battery acid to leak from loads onto elephants' backs. Williams established a field veterinary hospital to care for the injured, but nothing could be done on the night when a horrified sapper officer drove into his camp to report that one of their favourite beasts, Okethapyah-PaG.o.da Stone-had trodden on a land mine. "I gave Alex167 a good tot of rum, told him I could not amputate an elephant's legs, and we could only do our best to prevent such accidents in future." a good tot of rum, told him I could not amputate an elephant's legs, and we could only do our best to prevent such accidents in future."

Williams scoured parachute drop zones for broken bags of salt, which his animals adored, and strove constantly to prevent the casual cruelty of soldiers. Once, an Indian Army Service Corps driver, enraged by an elephant blocking his road, simply shot it in the leg. In October 1944 Williams's favourite elephant, Bandoola, forty-eight years old, got loose in a pineapple grove and contacted acute colic after eating nine hundred fruits. Bandoola recovered from this experience only to be found dead a few months later with one tusk removed, and a wound inflicted by a British bullet. Romantic though the elephants were, they suffered grievously for their role in a struggle of which they knew nothing. Many used by the j.a.panese were wounded or killed by RAF strafing. Most of those recaptured had had their tusks sawn off for ivory. Some 4,000 elephants are estimated to have died in Burma between 1942 and 1945.

It was a strange world, that of Fourteenth Army, divorced from anything its soldiers had known in past life. "We had entered an enchanted zone168-a place of evil enchantment, if you like," wrote Brian Aldiss. "You could not buy a ticket to get where we were...No women were allowed, or hairdressers, or any kind of extraneous occupation. Lawyers, entertainers, politicians-all were forbidden...To attend this show, you had to be young and part of the British Empire." There was no loot to be scavenged from the battlefield, such as the armies fighting in Europe enjoyed. There were only the enemy's swords and pathetic banners, though Aldiss was once bemused to see a man marching with an old j.a.panese typewriter lashed to his sixty-pound pack.

There were few illusions about the loyalties of Burmans, in whose country this bitter struggle was fought out. A 20th Division report described 10 percent of the locals-often tribesmen from minority communities, persecuted by the Burman majority-as pro-British, 10 percent as die-hard anti-British, and 80 percent as "lukewarm, a.s.sisting whichever superior forces169 they are forced or persuaded to." John Randle once entered a village to find a badly wounded j.a.panese, obviously dying, "with his left leg shattered they are forced or persuaded to." John Randle once entered a village to find a badly wounded j.a.panese, obviously dying, "with his left leg shattered170, bloated and gangrenous." A group of Burmans surrounded him, one of whom was driving a stick up his a.n.u.s. Randle shot dead both the j.a.panese and his Burman torturer.

Men learned to beware mist on the hills, which often persisted until mid-morning, screening enemy movements. They were respectful of j.a.panese 90mm mortars. At night, two green Very lights from the enemy lines usually signalled an attack. Officers found it prudent to dress indistinguishably from their men, to avoid attracting the attention of snipers. The first of 114 Field Regiment to be killed in action was John Robbins, a newly arrived young forward observation officer who went into action alongside the infantry wearing badges of rank, binoculars, and a map case prominently slung round his neck. One burst from a j.a.panese light machine gun removed Robbins.

In Indian and African units some British officers grew beards, to make their white skins less conspicuous. When Captain Ronnie McAllister joined 1/3rd Gurkhas at the beginning of 1945, he was warned to avoid exposing himself unnecessarily. One Gurkha colonel was notorious for making his white officers lead from the front, with the consequence that some twenty were killed within months. There had been a legendary 1/3rd incident in 1943, when in battle the CO himself started firing at the j.a.panese with a Bren gun. Afterwards, the subadar-major subadar-major reproved him fiercely, saying: "This must never happen again. It is our job to fight, reproved him fiercely, saying: "This must never happen again. It is our job to fight, sahib sahib, and yours to command." McAllister said: "The people who lived through 1944 had no illusions. They told us not to rush about too much, to stay alive."

Some of those who marched into Burma in the winter of 1944, including McAllister, had been waiting years to see action. Maj. John Hill was a pre-war regular soldier, now a company commander in the 2nd Berks.h.i.+res, who had spent forty months on garrison duties in India: "The war took a long time171 to reach us." The Berks.h.i.+res were shocked by their first sights of battle: "Jeep ambulances came slowly past us with the groaning, b.l.o.o.d.y, bandaged forms of three men. I remember saying to myself: 'So this is to reach us." The Berks.h.i.+res were shocked by their first sights of battle: "Jeep ambulances came slowly past us with the groaning, b.l.o.o.d.y, bandaged forms of three men. I remember saying to myself: 'So this is it it,' and others must have thought the same. The ambulances pa.s.sed the whole battalion slowly, as if to emphasise the moment. It seemed odd that, after five years of war, this was our first sight of casualties...To most of us, the next few short months would seem as long as years. To a few, they would be positive enjoyment; to most, a time when a job had to be done; to others, positive purgatory."

Men's battle careers were often brutally abbreviated. Charles Besly of the Berks.h.i.+res was a twenty-six-year-old BSc, who before the war had worked in a circus and as a.s.sistant stage manager of a London theatre company. In Denmark when war broke out, he hitchhiked home to join the army. By January 1945 he had served for a year with his battalion as a platoon commander, without seeing action. Within days of his first contact with the enemy he won a Military Cross in a clash with the j.a.panese. He was severely wounded, however, almost losing a leg. Besly disappeared from the regiment, never to fight again.

Thousands of soldiers followed behind Slim's infantry, performing the myriad support functions of an army. Some maintained themselves in tiny coc.o.o.ns of Britishness, upon which the war and foreign places scarcely impinged. Joe Welch was a south London joiner's son, working in a power station, who joined the army in 1939 and became a linesman in a signals company. He and a little cl.u.s.ter of comrades served successively in Iraq, Greece, Libya, India and Burma, without any of these campaigns leaving much mark upon them. They were awed by the scale of India, but Burma was simply "lots of trees...I once saw an elephant...There were all these monkeys and spiders that came up when we were eating. I never saw a Burman." The campaign, to chirpy little Joe Welch, was simply "rain, rain, rain and bully, bully, bully." He and his mates-a fellow Londoner named Joy, Garner from Manchester, Vince from Sheffield-carried their own little British world across the Chindwin in their Chevrolet truck with its wooden Indian-made body as composedly as they had rattled through Greece and the Western Desert. They laid their telephone lines from division to corps to army in the hills of a.s.sam, then on the path to the Irrawaddy. What did the war mean to Joe Welch? "I didn't worry about it172-just one of those things, innit?" That is how the 193945 experience was for millions of uniformed men, no poets they, yet all warriors of a kind.

Every man, whatever his rank or specialisation, was expected to turn a hand to anything. At the end of November 1944, the Berks.h.i.+res found themselves road building just inside the Burma border. "Even the miners among us173 found it tough going," wrote Maj. John Hill, who wielded a pick with his men, "but it was all part of Fourteenth Army's philosophy of self-help and DIY, in modern jargon...blasting trees, bamboo roots, rocks and eternally digging and shovelling, digging and shovelling until we longed for knocking-off time at 1600." found it tough going," wrote Maj. John Hill, who wielded a pick with his men, "but it was all part of Fourteenth Army's philosophy of self-help and DIY, in modern jargon...blasting trees, bamboo roots, rocks and eternally digging and shovelling, digging and shovelling until we longed for knocking-off time at 1600."

During the advance from Imphal to the Chindwin, Slim's men met only sporadic j.a.panese resistance, for the enemy was in no condition to fight a serious battle. In consequence, beyond the strains of the march, among many units there was almost a holiday atmosphere. The long files marched each night for eight or nine hours, each man following a wooden tag dipped in phosphorus tied to his predecessor's backpack. Then, when morning came, they bivouacked. "Very soon companies would have settled down in their allotted areas on perimeters," recorded the History of the 3/1st Gurkhas. "Cookhouses and latrines would be built; the men, after consuming quant.i.ties of sweet tea, would make 'sun shades' for themselves and the sahibs sahibs, and everyone would settle down for a very pleasant day, which everyone could spend pretty much how he liked." When they reached the Chindwin one officer, John Murray, spent hours fis.h.i.+ng vainly with rod and line. He was chagrined to hear a loud explosion, then to meet a triumphant party of his men clutching a large fish, secured by judicious use of a grenade. The Gurkhas enjoyed the spectacle of African soldiers potting monkeys with rifles, until stray bullets started to fly about their own heads.

Yet even when organised j.a.panese resistance was slight, almost every yard of the Burma war provided unwelcome surprises. John Cameron-Hayes was disturbed in the night by a weight descending on his mosquito net, which proved to be a cobra. When one of his men shot a boa constrictor, its falling corpse knocked him into a stream. During the hours of darkness, both sides employed "jitter parties," patrols whose function was to disrupt their opponents' repose. Beyond these, there were plenty of unscheduled encounters. One night a Gurkha NCO awoke from sleep to see seven figures standing together on the road just beside him, huddled over a map. He rose, challenged them, and was met by startled j.a.panese grunts. He smote one enemy soldier with a spade, while the others scattered and ran. A British officer, awakened by the racket, found two figures struggling hand-to-hand in the darkness beside him. Joining the fray, it was some seconds before he realised that he was fighting a fellow officer. There was a desultory exchange of fire, then silence fell. The camp returned to sleep, only to be wakened once more by a thunderous explosion. A j.a.panese officer had blown himself up on an anti-tank mine. The Gurkhas slept again. At dawn, but for the presence of four dead j.a.panese in their positions, they would have been tempted to dismiss the alarums of the night as mere fantasies.

Beyond casualties inflicted by the enemy, there was a steady trickle of accidents, inseparable from all military operations. The air-dropping of supplies became a dominant feature of Fourteenth Army's advance, and soldiers and pack animals were sometimes killed by loads falling upon them from the sky. As columns threaded up precipitous mountain tracks, at intervals a mule slipped, plunging into the valley below. A report noted wearily that the animal lost was invariably carrying a vital radio set-it was essential to ensure that some wirelesses were manpacked. A private of the Buffs performed a notable little feat of heroism, wiping out a j.a.panese machine-gun post with his Bren gun. Yet as he ran on forward, he tripped and fell. The spade protruding from his pack caught and broke his neck. In action shortly afterwards, a Buffs sergeant called to his runner, Cecil Daniels, for a bag of grenades. The NCO was infuriated when Daniels told him they were not primed. "I'm not carrying a haversack174 full of primed grenades," said Daniels firmly. He had been rendered cautious by seeing so many comrades fall victim to accidents with munitions. full of primed grenades," said Daniels firmly. He had been rendered cautious by seeing so many comrades fall victim to accidents with munitions.

"We seem condemned to wallow175 at half-speed through these jungles," Winston Churchill complained bitterly in October 1944, describing the progress of Fourteenth Army. Yet for those at the sharp end, every yard of movement meant pain and difficulty. Conventional fieldcraft demanded that men should avoid the few tracks, which were likely to be covered by enemy fire. Yet movement through thick cover was so desperately slow that only tracks and at half-speed through these jungles," Winston Churchill complained bitterly in October 1944, describing the progress of Fourteenth Army. Yet for those at the sharp end, every yard of movement meant pain and difficulty. Conventional fieldcraft demanded that men should avoid the few tracks, which were likely to be covered by enemy fire. Yet movement through thick cover was so desperately slow that only tracks and chaungs- chaungs-riverbeds-offered any prospect of advancing at tolerable speed. Distances measured on the map were meaningless-what mattered was how far men had to march. They learned not to smoke or talk at night anywhere within reach of the enemy, for scent and sound alike carried far. They cursed the relentless damp, which misted the optics of gunsights and binoculars, rusted weapons overnight. Newly joined replacements often buckled under the weight of their packs. Training had not prepared them for the burdens men must carry in a country where vehicles were few and mules precious. Air-dropped artillery had to be manhandled into firing positions by sweating gunners.

If a man was lucky, every few months he was granted a brief leave in India. Soldiers resting from Burma were ent.i.tled to "convalescent scale" rations. A transport aircraft carried them to rear base, from which an Indian soldier still needed days of travel to reach his home. Wartime trains in the subcontinent were notoriously congested and slow. When a Tokyo propaganda broadcast on Christmas Eve 1943 a.s.serted that j.a.panese forces would reach Delhi in ten days, a chorus of listening Punjabi soldiers, just returned from an irksome leave journey, chorused: "Not if they go by train176, they won't!" Yet many of Slim's soldiers had no homes in India. On leave, they sought what pleasures they could discover. Sgt. Kofi Genfi of the Gold Coast Regiment described a touching experience: "Oh, the Indians were very kind177 to me. In Madras I went to dance-I am a ballroom champion dancer. I sat down, but I couldn't get a partner. I was shy. I didn't know how to engage a lady. A man came and said: 'Do you want to dance?'...He said 'Come, come.' He gave me his wife...We started to dance, and they all stopped and looked at me as if I was giving a demonstration. At the end, there was applause. Then every lady wants to dance with me!" to me. In Madras I went to dance-I am a ballroom champion dancer. I sat down, but I couldn't get a partner. I was shy. I didn't know how to engage a lady. A man came and said: 'Do you want to dance?'...He said 'Come, come.' He gave me his wife...We started to dance, and they all stopped and looked at me as if I was giving a demonstration. At the end, there was applause. Then every lady wants to dance with me!"

For the white as well as black soldiers of Fourteenth Army, there was a shameful divide between the luxuries offered to officers on leave in clubs and messes, and the pitiful delights available to other ranks. These focused upon bars and brothels of notable squalor. When John Leyin's tank gunner heard that he was to be repatriated to England, his joy was tempered by the misery of finding himself impotent, after repeated treatments for venereal disease. The British cla.s.s system shaped the lives of the nation's soldiers overseas, even more in Asia than in Europe. Signaller Brian Aldiss wrote cynically: "Most rankers expected little178 from life, had been brought up to expect little. And received little." Few men returned content from leave. But the experience granted at least a brief reprieve from toil, sweat and fear. from life, had been brought up to expect little. And received little." Few men returned content from leave. But the experience granted at least a brief reprieve from toil, sweat and fear.

THROUGHOUT THE B BURMA CAMPAIGN, American transport aircraft, fighters and bombers provided vital support to Slim's operations. Chuck Linamen, a twenty-year-old steelworker's son from Ohio, flew fifty-two B-24 Liberator missions from India to targets in Burma and Siam. The first that he and his crew knew of their posting to the Far East was when they opened sealed orders over the Atlantic, en route to the Azores in August 1944: "I couldn't even p.r.o.nounce the names of the places we were going." But from the moment he joined the 436th Squadron at Madagan, 130 miles north-east of Calcutta, he found himself one of the relatively small number of men who relished the task which war had imposed upon him: "I enjoyed every minute of it." He loved his crew, a characteristic all-American mix: Ray Hanson, "the best navigator in the world," from Minneapolis; Will Henderson, the co-pilot, from Montana; a Texan bombardier; Kentuckian radio operator; gunners from New York, Mississippi, Pennsylvania and Ohio. They mined Bangkok harbour, dropped bombs on railyards, bridges, j.a.panese positions. By the standards of Europe, all their missions were long-haul, cruising at 165 knots for a minimum of ten hours, a maximum of eighteen. By way of compensation, however, opposition from flak and fighters was slight. On some low-level missions they strafed j.a.panese positions like excited schoolboys from three hundred feet, gunners whose turrets would not bear shouting over the intercom: "Give me a shot! Give me a shot!" American transport aircraft, fighters and bombers provided vital support to Slim's operations. Chuck Linamen, a twenty-year-old steelworker's son from Ohio, flew fifty-two B-24 Liberator missions from India to targets in Burma and Siam. The first that he and his crew knew of their posting to the Far East was when they opened sealed orders over the Atlantic, en route to the Azores in August 1944: "I couldn't even p.r.o.nounce the names of the places we were going." But from the moment he joined the 436th Squadron at Madagan, 130 miles north-east of Calcutta, he found himself one of the relatively small number of men who relished the task which war had imposed upon him: "I enjoyed every minute of it." He loved his crew, a characteristic all-American mix: Ray Hanson, "the best navigator in the world," from Minneapolis; Will Henderson, the co-pilot, from Montana; a Texan bombardier; Kentuckian radio operator; gunners from New York, Mississippi, Pennsylvania and Ohio. They mined Bangkok harbour, dropped bombs on railyards, bridges, j.a.panese positions. By the standards of Europe, all their missions were long-haul, cruising at 165 knots for a minimum of ten hours, a maximum of eighteen. By way of compensation, however, opposition from flak and fighters was slight. On some low-level missions they strafed j.a.panese positions like excited schoolboys from three hundred feet, gunners whose turrets would not bear shouting over the intercom: "Give me a shot! Give me a shot!"

This did not, however, make the a.s.signment risk-free. Beyond the hazards of mechanical failure, the j.a.panese could spring unwelcome surprises. Over Bangkok, Allied aircraft weaved to avoid barrage balloons. At 6,000 feet above Karneburi on 3 April 1945, Linamen's Liberator was. .h.i.t by enemy anti-aircraft fire which inflicted punis.h.i.+ng damage on its systems, severed an aileron cable and removed the starboard wingtip. They fell 4,000 feet before the pilot regained control, and then he had to nurse the plane every mile of the way back, for seven and a half hours, to the RAF emergency strip at c.o.x's Bazaar. Over the base, he invited the crew to jump. A gunner asked: "What you doing, Curly?" "I'm going to ride her down," responded the pilot. The gunner said: "What are we waiting for, then?" The other nine men took up crash positions. Unable to slow the plane for landing without losing control, Linamen settled for a high-speed skid onto the beach, touching at 150 mph, frantically shutting down fuel, power, systems until they shuddered to a halt. The crew, terrified of fire, bolted out of the hatches. One man found himself lying on the sand inches from a propeller that was still windmilling and could have removed his head. "You laugh about these things afterwards, but any of them can cost a life."

Another day, over a target, the co-pilot suddenly shouted, "Yowie!" Linamen turned in bewilderment, demanding: "What's your problem?" A 20mm cannon sh.e.l.l had clipped off part of the man's leg, mercifully without damaging the aircraft systems. They hastened home, to deliver their casualty to the medics. If Linamen loved to fly, others did not: "A h.e.l.l of a lot of people were pretty despondent. They didn't like India, they didn't like the job." One day, "The colonel leading the mission screwed up. The wing found the target fogged in, but farted around waiting for visibility to clear, and got a few shot down." Among the pilots lost was a Californian named J. C. Osborne, one of Linamen's closest friends.

During the monsoon, when the weather was unfit for bombing, the Liberators were transferred to transport duty, carting fuel over the Hump into China. One night on the ground at a Chinese airstrip, they found themselves in the midst of a j.a.panese air raid. The airmen crowded onto the roof of a revetment to watch the fireworks, until a stick of bombs landed a few yards away, driving the Americans hastily into cover. Linamen exclaimed: "My daddy always taught me179 that it is more blessed to give than to receive, and he sure was right!" Yet he felt no great animosity towards the j.a.panese: "They were just there, they were the enemy. I had volunteered to fly, I was doing a job." Linamen achieved some fame, as one of the airmen who attacked the bridge over the river Kwai, built by prisoners on the ghastly BurmaSiam railway. Yet they felt little emotion even about this mission. They knew that Allied prisoners were on the ground, but had heard nothing of their unspeakable sufferings. Bombing the bridge was just another mission. that it is more blessed to give than to receive, and he sure was right!" Yet he felt no great animosity towards the j.a.panese: "They were just there, they were the enemy. I had volunteered to fly, I was doing a job." Linamen achieved some fame, as one of the airmen who attacked the bridge over the river Kwai, built by prisoners on the ghastly BurmaSiam railway. Yet they felt little emotion even about this mission. They knew that Allied prisoners were on the ground, but had heard nothing of their unspeakable sufferings. Bombing the bridge was just another mission.

Tactical air support was a critical force in the British advance, rendered even more formidable by the fact that j.a.panese fighters had almost disappeared from the sky. Day after day, Fourteenth Army situation reports-"sitreps"-recorded: "Enemy air activity: NIL." Hurribombers-Hurricanes adapted for ground attack-mounted over 150 sorties a day, aided by American Thunderbolts. Strafing was always hazardous. Even when enemy resistance was slight, the perils of the jungle and mechanical failure persisted. A Beaufighter crew of 211 Squadron once jumped from a damaged aircraft over their base in the Arakan, rather than risk a landing. Their parachutes drifted into a rain forest of 150-foot trees. Though within a mile of their airfield, the airmen were never seen again.

Beaufighters-big, tough, twin-engined aircraft which weighed ten tons and carried a two-man crew-flew long "intruder missions" of up to seven hours, usually against j.a.panese rear areas. They tried to time their attacks for dawn or dusk, racing in at fifty to a hundred feet, weaving to confuse the ground gunners. They carried a formidable armament-aimed by a reflector sight on the canopy, a red ring with a blade to direct rockets, a dot for the guns. The whole aircraft shook violently when the 20mm nose battery fired. Exploding cannon sh.e.l.ls raised a dust cloud around a target, or sometimes prompted more dramatic effects when they hit river sampans loaded with fuel. "For an instant180," twenty-one-year-old Anthony Montague Browne of 211 Squadron wrote lyrically of such a moment, "the flight of sh.e.l.ls caught the sunlight, s.h.i.+mmering like a swarm of silver bees." His unit's "Beaus" usually attacked in flights of three or four, preferring to do so without their squadron commander, a devout Catholic who could be seen crossing himself before making a dive. Other pilots begged him to desist from this practice: "It looked doom-laden181 and distinctly disconcerting." Once, over the Irrawaddy, Montague Brown saw a string of boats carrying a brilliantly clad wedding party. Hapless guests sprang into the water as soon as they glimpsed the Beaufighter. and distinctly disconcerting." Once, over the Irrawaddy, Montague Brown saw a string of boats carrying a brilliantly clad wedding party. Hapless guests sprang into the water as soon as they glimpsed the Beaufighter.

On the ground, at their airstrip, there were few comforts or diversions. Food was poor, the chief consolations a monthly ration of one bottle of whisky and four cans of Australian beer. When these were exhausted the pilots-a typical RAF mix of British, Australian, Canadian and New Zealand-had recourse to a local palm toddy arak, known as Rum, b.u.m and Broken Gla.s.s. Between operations every two or three days, they played a lot of poker. One squadron commander, with an implausible past as a ballet instructor, sought to raise the cultural tone by playing Les Sylphides Les Sylphides on the mess gramophone before take-off. Beyond the airstrip, there was nowhere even to go for walks, amid unbroken swamps and jungle. The fliers had no contact with local people, except once when some aviation spirit was stolen. The British drove around the area in jeeps, pleading with rice farmers not to use the high-octane fuel as a subst.i.tute for paraffin in their lamps. The Burmans took no heed. "That night, the sky was red on the mess gramophone before take-off. Beyond the airstrip, there was nowhere even to go for walks, amid unbroken swamps and jungle. The fliers had no contact with local people, except once when some aviation spirit was stolen. The British drove around the area in jeeps, pleading with rice farmers not to use the high-octane fuel as a subst.i.tute for paraffin in their lamps. The Burmans took no heed. "That night, the sky was red182 with flames from burning huts, and pathetic little queues formed outside the medical units for treatment," wrote Montague Brown. with flames from burning huts, and pathetic little queues formed outside the medical units for treatment," wrote Montague Brown.

The area was notorious for extremes of weather. Once, a tornado blew down all their huts. In the air, they met violent thermal currents and thunderstorms. A hailstorm could strip the camouflage paint from wing leading edges, leaving the aluminium s.h.i.+ning like silver. When a crew was lost, the squadron usually had no notion of its fate. An aircraft literally went missing. It was an unglamorous existence, detached from the rest of mankind and the war, though by a quirk of communications they received airmail editions of the London Times Times only five days after publication. Montague Brown-who became Winston Churchill's private secretary a decade afterwards-wondered if the campaign would ever end. "Our progress to the liberation of Burma was extraordinarily lengthy," he wrote. "We had superiority in every arm only five days after publication. Montague Brown-who became Winston Churchill's private secretary a decade afterwards-wondered if the campaign would ever end. "Our progress to the liberation of Burma was extraordinarily lengthy," he wrote. "We had superiority in every arm183, and after the early toe-to-toe slogging at Imphal...the terrain progressively improved for armour and transport...Why were we so dilatory?...Surely, we could have moved faster. I was later intrigued to find that Churchill shared this view." Hall Romney, a British POW on j.a.pan's infamous Burma railway, wrote in his diary on 19 November 1944: "When one considers what the Americans184 have done in the Pacific, one cannot help thinking people have moved slowly in Western Asia." have done in the Pacific, one cannot help thinking people have moved slowly in Western Asia."

This was a widely held view, even among those with less cause than Romney to yearn for haste. The j.a.panese army in Burma was crippled at Imphal and Kohima before Slim's army even left a.s.sam. From that point onwards, the British invaders were overwhelmingly superior to their enemies. It would have been shameful indeed had Slim's f