Authors: Anthony G Williams
THE FORESIGHT WAR (35 page)
Herrman wearily closed his eyes.
It was all happening again, he thought.
If the Wehrmacht couldn’t finish off the Russians before they had time to regather their strength, the battle could go on for years.
And if the Russians were to win the contest while the Americans concentrated only on the Pacific, the avenging Russian armies would roll all the way through to the Atlantic coast.
What to do?
Every path seemed fraught with danger.
He felt the beginning of yet another migraine attack.
Patchy fog surrounded the ships; heavy clouds massed above.
The patrolling fighters were only occasionally seen as they swooped down low over the convoy.
As night approached, Vice-Admiral Ozawa, Commander-in-Chief of the Southern Squadron and given the task of protecting the invasion fleet, allowed himself to feel relief.
He would shortly lose the fighters back to their base on
Since leaving port on the 4th of December with over twenty-six thousand troops of the 5th and 18th Infantry Divisions, tension had steadily increased.
So far, they seemed to be undiscovered.
One unidentified aircraft had strayed too close at around
He gave the order to the transports to split up into their separate detachments and head for the three landing points, then signalled the rest of the covering force:
‘The main business from now is to proceed to Kota Bharu to cover the landing of the Katumi Detachment.
Pray for the success of the disembarkation.’
Ozawa carefully reviewed the task ahead.
Kota Bharu was assigned only a small Detachment of three transports, but was the nearest point to the big British airbase several miles inland.
This had to be captured quickly to enable the Army Air Force to mount operations in support of the invasion, so the assault force was timed to go in first – even before the planned attack at Pearl Harbor – in order to provide maximum surprise.
The assaults on Siam would go in a few hours later.
They would then be able to use the airstrip at Singora, but that was far cruder than the British facilities.
He was not particularly concerned about the presence of the British heavy cruisers at Singapore.
Two of the eight-inch gun County class were reported, together with two of the newer six-inch gun ships.
His flagship
Chokai
, a heavy cruiser of the Takao class, could outgun any of them, and he had two layers of cover; nearby was Rear Admiral Kurita’s 7th Cruiser Squadron with the four vessels of the Mogami class, and acting as distant cover were two more Takao class ships and the battlecruiser
Kongo
and battleship
Haruna
under Vice-Admiral Kondo.
Furthermore, a minefield had been laid between the
The aircraft carriers would be unable to stop the landings, which would all be over by dawn.
He began to relax a little.
The worst problem now facing them seemed to be the heavy seas, which would interfere with smooth disembarkation.
But that wasn’t his problem.
Geoffrey Taylor squelched through the mud towards the looming shapes barely visible in the pouring rain.
The journey from Alor Star to this northernmost point of Malaya, the closest the British could get to the main landing point of Singora, had not been pleasant.
For the armoured vehicles which now lined the road, to reach Singora before the Japanese established themselves would be a major task.
‘Hop aboard sir!
It may not be comfortable but at least it’s dry.’
Taylor acknowledged the young Captain’s offer and clambered up the side of the big Humber armoured car before dropping down through the turret hatch.
The six-wheel-drive vehicles had been reckoned the most likely to get to Singora quickly.
He noted that this was the latest Mark III version, with the bigger fourteen pounder gun capable of firing a large explosive shell or the new APDS shot.
Introduced a few months ago in the Crusader II tank, the bigger gun was simply made by increasing the calibre
of the previous six pounder,
so the two guns were interchangeable. The Humber was more than capable of looking after itself against the mediocre Japanese tanks.
‘Will the Humbers be OK in this weather?’
He asked dubiously.
‘I gather the roads are pretty awful on the other side.’
The Captain shrugged.
‘I expect we’ll soon find out.
Any news yet?’
Taylor shook his head.
Operation Matador, the advance into Siam to forestall a Japanese invasion, had been planned for months.
The only problem was the diplomatic nicety of invading a neutral country which hadn’t asked for help.
Norway all over again,
he
thought.
We really must stop being so squeamish.
At least, one glove had been taken off with the shooting down of the reconnaissance plane; now they could shoot back.
He was more than a little suspicious of the reason for the orders which had taken the Hampden so unnecessarily close to the Japanese fleet, which the radar-equipped Sunderlands had been tracking from a safe distance…
The radio headset crackled and the Captain put it on and listened for a few seconds.
Then he turned to Taylor with a grim smile.
‘We’re on. Invasion ships have been reported inside Malayan territorial waters off Kota Bharu with more approaching the coast of Siam.’
Taylor mirrored his grin.
‘I gather your loader has a bad case of the runs.’
The Captain eyed him speculatively.
‘You didn’t find me by chance, did you?’
Taylor’s grin widened.
‘I don’t like leaving anything to chance.
Let’s go!’
The soldiers on duty at Kahuku Point, on the northern tip of Oahu, were bored.
They had been out on a training exercise since
Since the big British plane they had been warned about had passed by on its way back to Hickham Field half an hour ago, nothing had flickered on the screen.
One of the GIs leaned forward, puzzled.
‘What do you make of that?’
A smaller dot had appeared on the screen from the north, as if following the track of the Warwick.
His companion grunted.
‘Check with the others.’
In due course the other two units confirmed that they too had made the same contact.
‘Better report it.
Then we can start packing up.’
Their stint ended at
Two of the units shut down ready to leave.
The third pair of soldiers left their set on a while longer, waiting for the breakfast truck.
The exclamation of astonishment came from one of the soldiers at
Peter Morgan controlled his temper.
The young Lieutenant in front of him was clearly worried, but reluctant to act.
‘It is very early on Sunday morning, sir. My superiors are probably all asleep at home.’
‘Look at it this way,’ Morgan said reasonably.
‘If I’m wrong, you can blame me for insisting that the alarm is given.
If I’m right and you don’t act, you’ll go down in history as the one man who left Pearl Harbor open to disaster.’
The Lieutenant gulped unhappily.
The Britisher’s fierce intensity unnerved him.
‘Well, I don’t know…’
The phone rang.
Commander Mitsuo Fuchida stared down on Oahu from the cockpit of his bomber.
The cloud formations above the island which had been visible from far away had now broken up and the morning sun shimmered across the sea.
Visibility was perfect, the surf breaking on Kahuhu Point clearly visible.
The reconnaissance aircraft which had preceded the air fleet had reported no aircraft carriers in harbour, which was a blow, but several battleships.
Good enough; he was going in.
He scanned the sky, looking for the dots of defending aircraft ready to pounce.
Very soon, he would need to decide which plan of attack to execute.
The time was
The sky was clear.
Fuchida pulled open the cockpit and fired the single ‘Black Dragon’ signal flare which indicated a surprise attack.
His formation of Aichi D3A dive bombers, Mitsubishi A6M fighters and
Nakajima B5N attack bombers, some carrying bombs, others torpedoes, began to move into their attack positions.
Fuchida frowned – the fighters had not responded.
Irritated, he fired another flare.
The fighters reacted – but so did the bombers, as two flares meant ‘surprise lost’ and a different attack formation.
Fuchida grunted in annoyance – now both the dive and torpedo bombers would attack simultaneously instead of in the coordinated way planned.
Pearl Harbor crawled into view on his port quarter, the lines of battleships moored by
As he began to lead his formation around to line up on the great base, movement caught the corner of his eye.
He looked down, puzzled.
The Allison engine screamed as if in unearthly rage, dragging the P-40 upwards and forwards into the sky, hurtling towards the clusters of dots gleaming in the morning sun.
In his headphones the pilot could hear the constant stream of profanity from his wingman.
Nerves were stretched close to snapping by the sudden alarm at Wheeler Field, the desperate rush to fuel the planes, arm the guns, take off,
take
off!
Behind him, some three dozen sleek fighters, all of the P-40s that could be scrambled, fought to catch up.
Further behind still trailed however many P-36s had managed to get airborne.
Shouts and screams echoed over the intercom and he glanced in his mirror.
The P-36s were under attack!
He could see the swarm of dots which must be Japanese planes surrounding the struggling American fighters.
No time for that now – his business was ahead of him.
Fuchida urged the Nakajima onwards, the airframe shuddering as it approached its maximum speed of 200 knots.
Ahead and to one side, he could see the Aichis preparing to dive.
Suddenly, his plane juddered and lurched as if in pain, and strange shapes flashed across his field of view – fighters with long, pointed noses, not the blunt radials of the familiar Mitsubishis.
The Americans were amongst them!
The Japanese formation, shredded and dispersed by the P-40s’ attack, pressed on to the target.
The quiescent ships suddenly erupted with anti-aircraft fire;
first the five inch guns, their fifty-five pound shells bursting among the planes, then the 1.1 inch cannon in their quadruple mountings, hammering rhythmically as the gun crews raced to and fro with clips of ammunition; finally the rapid blare of the fifty-calibre Browning machine guns.
Planes fell, bombs fell, torpedoes struck, mayhem ruled.
The noise, smoke, shock and terror were indescribable.
It was just past
‘They should have provided us with periscopes – it’s just as well
it’s
dark, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see a thing!’
The navigator grinned at the pilot’s idiosyncratic logic as rain sluiced past the Beaufort’s canopy.
‘Not to worry!’
He called out.
‘We can blow ballast tanks soon!’
He continued to watch the radar screen as the Isthmus of Kra crawled below him.
Somewhere up ahead should be some ships.
Admiral Somerville stared grimly at a much larger radar screen, which showed the Beauforts at the limit of detection.
Soon they would be out of range and on their own.
He sighed.
‘It’s a foul night.
I hope the weather’s better on the eastern side.’
‘Not much, sir.
There should be some breaks in the cloud and rain, but on the other hand they shouldn’t need them.
At least, there is good news from Kota Bharu.
One of their ships tripped over our minefield and Brigands from the air base hit the other two with rockets before they could start unloading.
All three ships were sunk and not many troops made it.
The survivors have all been captured.’