Divided We Fell

At a ghostly two in the morning of 29 November 1941, two small U. S. warships slipped down Shanghai’s Hwangpoo River toward the open sea. Silently the white-and-buff ships passed the ancient, sleeping Japanese cruiser flagship Idzumo, the fat Italian liner Conte Verde taking sanctuary from enemy warships at sea, and the ubiquitous squadrons of Chinese fishing junks anchored in the river to escape the approaching typhoon.

As a few falling chunks of plaster sometimes immediately precede the roaring collapse of an old building, so these two river gunboats, Luzon and Oahu, running south to Manila, were harbingers of the collapse of the American, Dutch, and British armed forces in their Far Eastern empires. In three more months the Japanese would stand at the gates of Australia.

It is a logical recognition of military reality to admit that under the circumstances, Allied disaster was inevitable. But to accept the degree of the defeat as a concomitant consequence of fate not only belies the facts; it abdicates our responsibility to avoid a repetition of such disaster in the future.

The conquest of the Philippines, Malaya, and the Indies by the Japanese was a triumph rendered simpler and quicker for them by Allied violation of the very fundamentals of unified action. Great steps have been taken since those days to improve command relationships and joint planning, but more remains to be done; the improvement is relative—not absolute.

Most naval officers nowadays take for granted the principle of unified command and the relatively close connections existing between the various armed services. Many have attended joint schools or have served on joint or combined staffs. Roughly 2 per cent of all U. S. naval officers now serve under a top echelon commander from either the U. S. Army or the U. S. Air Force.

It is thus not easy for today’s naval officer to visualize the situation which existed only one generation ago, just prior to the commencement of World War II. There were at that time a great many naval officers who in their entire professional lives had never exchanged a single word with an officer of the U. S. Army either socially or in line of duty. It would indeed be fairly safe to say that a great majority had never done so. At no point in the field did any co-operative liaison exist other than through the voluntary efforts of officers operating under the stimulus of individual initiative, which in the next round of personalities might be wholly lacking.

A prime and tragic example indicative of the canyon which divided the two major services was Chief of Staff of the Army General George Marshall’s final war warning to his Hawaii subordinate Lieutenant General Walter C. Short, sent via commercial cable instead of being handed across to the adjoining building to go by the highly effective naval communication system in direct contact with Pearl Harbor. Marshall’s message, as we of course recall, arrived some hours after the Japanese bombers. Unified communications had yet to be born.

That such lack of co-operative enterprise existed at the very top was at least a sad commentary on American appreciation of realism. That it existed in the field was a downright guarantee of disaster and in no place was this more clearly demonstrated than in the Far East. There, the odds were initially strongly against us, and even more to the point, the character of the problem demanded the closest possible joint effort to exploit best the capabilities of our small but highly professional Army and Navy forces on the scene.

The year 1941 provided an unfolding panorama of expanding Japanese power, operations, and ambitions. One must, however, qualify these terms. Although Japanese absolute power could safely be said to have been diminishing, due to the Allied and U. S. sanctions, Japanese military power was growing because the national economy was being more and more channeled into the military machine. This trend was, of course, limited only by the degree to which the civilian economy could be constricted and the length of time over which the nation’s popular will to support this process could be sustained.

Operations were being extended in the sense that the Chinese “incident” had been largely stabilized, puppet governments set up, and the considerable Japanese forces thus disengaged, together with reinforcements from the homeland, were being pre-positioned for a broad new offensive. Ten of Japan’s 51 divisions were available.

As to ambitions—one may say that the term in its pure sense was strongly reinforced by necessity—in its simplest terms, Japan had been backed into an oil-less and steel-less corner which simply left it no choice but war.

It was with these ominous backdrops on the Far Eastern stage that our two principal military commanders in the area appeared in their prelude to the main act, the latter under the circumstances of a pre-ordained tragedy which one might have entitled, “Heroic Disaster.”

In 1935, Douglas MacArthur, then Chief of Staff of the U. S. Army, accepted the offer of the Philippine government to train their military forces, and he retired from U. S. service. His new Philippine rank of field marshal was unique in American annals.

In June 1941, MacArthur proposed to Marshall that a new U. S. military command embracing all U. S. Army activities in the Far East be established and that he be named commander. As of 26 July, at the age of 61, MacArthur was recalled to active duty as a major general, two grades less than he held on the U. S. retired list, and as of two days later, he was promoted to temporary lieutenant general.

MacArthur’s opposite number in the U. S. Navy, Admiral Thomas C. Hart, Commander in Chief Asiatic Fleet (CINCAF), was 64 and one grade senior to the new Commanding General, U. S. Army Forces Far East. Generally considered a strict disciplinarian, this somewhat dour New Englander was not the type to be easily pushed around. The characteristics which Hart and MacArthur held in common—aloofness, a certain cold impersonality toward all but a few chosen juniors, and a powerful partisan belief in one’s own theories—were well calculated to work against any boon companionship between the two on whom rested the responsibility for U. S. defense in the Far East.

Admiral Hart’s concern over the broad picture was complicated by some dangerously extended and exposed elements of his command which sat helplessly surrounded by Japanese might. They were the gunboats up the Chinese rivers, the 800-man 4th Marine regiment at Shanghai, and the total 200-man Marine detachments at Peking and Tientsin.

It was symptomatic of the general lack of appreciation of unity of command that none existed even between the above purely nautical elements.

In a slight digression from the main theme, it may be useful here to describe the somewhat bizarre and probably unique position of these detachments in North China, in that they were under the direct military command of a civilian, the U. S. Ambassador!

A Marine unit, including the Corps’ only Horse Marines, had been assigned at Peking following the Boxer Rebellion after the turn of the 20th century. Concurrently, the U. S. Army had maintained at Tientsin a force which over the decades had yo-yoed up and down between battalion and regimental size, depending on the situation of the moment. Its mission was to guarantee, in co-operation with military units from other foreign countries, that the 100-mile corridor between Peking and the sea was kept open as an escape route for the foreign diplomats at the Chinese capital.

The command relationship arrangements were no mere “gentlemen’s agreement”; they were down in black and white. In 1922, Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes had lectured General John J. Pershing (then Army Chief of Staff) and the Navy Department on the facts of life concerning to whom the two detachments should render a cheery, “Aye! Aye! Sir!” The Minister would normally “request” the commanding officers that such-and-such be done, but this “request” should be received and acted upon as if it were a direct order!

Louis Morton, the eminent historian, explains it in a February 1960 article in Pacific Historical Review: “Neither the War nor the Navy Department could reinforce, move, withdraw, or alter the mission of its forces in China without the consent of the Secretary of State. The Army repeatedly sought to wrest from the State Department control of its troops in China and to bring the Marines there under its command. Each effort met with failure, but few problems present as instructive a study of civil-military relations as this 40-year conflict between the State, War and Navy Departments for control of the forces in China.”

The Army had at one stage of the game even assigned a brigadier general to command the battalion-strength unit at Tientsin in happy presumption that success in gaining over-all command was imminent. They erred in underestimating the fierce resistance of the U. S. Marines, strongly backed by the incumbent minister, who no doubt felt he could more effectively exercise command over two colonels than over one general. The commands thus remained separate.

It had taken the efforts of no less a person than Assistant Secretary of War Louis Johnson—who, in 1949, would become the Second Secretary of Defense—to remove this Army detachment from Tientsin over the objections of the State Department. The vacuum would be filled by Marines. In September 1937, an irate Johnson had appealed to the President direct: “I find the action of the State Department in ignoring military advice has been characteristic of its attitude for many years past!” He added that State’s refusal to ask for or even to consider the military position was a matter of gravest concern to him.

Turning to Rear Admiral William Glass- ford, Commander Yangtze Patrol (ComYangPat) and Colonel Samuel L. Howard, commanding the 4th Marines, we find them, in 1940, vitally concerned with the rapidly developing crisis and their joint problem: How, with two wholly unco-ordinated horses in the Yangtze valley, plus a senior official in a silk hat at Peking, could they save the U. S. military wagon in China?

Admiral Hart arrived in Shanghai in the cruiser flagship Houston in October 1940, telling Admiral Glassford that he would not again come north. He did not divulge any war plans to Glassford, which was reasonable enough, in view of Glassford’s exposed position. At the same time, Glassford requested authority to establish unity of command over the Yangtze Patrol (his own five river gunboats), the 4th Marines and the North China (Peking- Tientsin) medical, intelligence, and supply activities (naval personnel assigned to the Marine detachments). The North China Marine personnel would presumably remain under the command of Nelson T. Johnson, the U. S. Ambassador.

Hart demurred in Glassford’s request for unity of command, but strongly concurred in his suggestion that the river gunboats be made ready for the open sea. Thus it was that Glass- ford commiserated with himself in his diary that, “I could only recommend; I could not direct ...” It was not until October 1941, a year later, that Admiral Hart, after repeated recommendations by Glassford, authorized the latter to, “assume direction of the ‘operation’ of all forces and activities [in China] concerned, ‘administration’ to remain as before.”

In his notes, Glassford added that in his insistence for unified command, “It is quite possible that we were over-zealous in our effort to formulate joint plans and that the High Command had us ever in mind. If this was the case we on the spot were not made aware of it.”

The China forces had had long-standing instructions as to action in case of Chinese disorders, but there were no instructions, orders or plans of any sort whatever, as to action in case of hostilities initiated by the Japanese. Following the authority for unified action and command, Glassford and Howard immediately set to work on how they might jointly extricate themselves from the trap if and when it were sprung. There were two basic plans: (1) the defense of Shanghai, and, (2) forced retirement into Free China.

On 8 November 1941, the Commander in Chief Asiatic Fleet radioed ComYangPat that, “President has approved withdrawal from China of all Marines and gunboats ...” and on 18 November, CinC Asiatic Fleet recommended to the Chief of Naval Operations that this authorization be carried out immediately-

Thus, neither of the two in extremis and relatively hopeless plans of “ComYangMar- China” ever had to be called into play. Two gunboats from Shanghai, one from Hongkong, and the Shanghai Marines were all safely in Manila by 5 December. Only the Peking-Tientsin detachments and the ship sent to carry them were lost by capture. The foresight on the part of Admiral Hart which Admiral Glassford had not been in a position to evaluate had snatched from the dragon s jaws nearly all of Glassford’s threatened forces.

On arrival in Manila on 5 December 1941, in his flat-bottomed flagship Luzon, after a perilous passage from Shanghai through massed Japanese naval formations and a typhoon, Glassford at once set about filling himself in on the wide gaps of his knowledge of the situation.

Among the more interesting subjects under consideration was the question of Admiral Hart’s relief; he was at retirement age. Glass- ford was sufficiently senior to replace Hart, had a good knowledge of the Far East and of Oriental mentality, cut a dashing personal figure, got along famously with the British, and in general, was suavity itself. Not the least important, he was there and available. It was not unreasonable to find that he seriously considered himself the front runner of the eligibles.

It was an unfortunate accident of fate that two such gifted officers as Hart and Glassford should have had such differing characters that co-operation between them was difficult.

Admiral Glassford learned that his ambitions had been spiked from the start; that Hart in personal messages to Admiral Harold R. Stark, the Chief of Naval Operations, implied that Glassford had done well in China but that duty there was largely diplomatic and that he was unacquainted with Asiatic Fleet questions.

The fact that this mutual incompatibility is made a matter of record here is not simply to provide idle gossip but to underline the sometimes vital importance of considering the personality aspect in assigning officers to top level command positions. As we shall see later, it was not until Admiral Hart had departed from the area that Admiral Glassford, as Commander U. S. Naval Forces Southwest Pacific and a vice admiral, found himself free to exercise the prerogatives assigned him a month previously by Washington.

In briefings by Admiral Hart’s Chief of Staff, Rear Admiral William Purnell, Admiral Glassford learned that in two previous conferences with the British, one in Manila and one in Singapore, little had been accomplished. In fact, the April 1941 visit to Manila of Air Marshal Robert Brooke-Popham, British CinC Far East, had been accompanied by so much publicity that the Japanese could not help but be alerted to combined planning, a wholly undesirable revelation at that preliminary stage of the game. The only solid fact derived was that the Dutch had agreed to place their naval forces at the disposal of the British, largely for convoy protection.

Aside from the above more or less negative results, it was indirectly revealed that much apparently had been going on between London and Washington that had not been passed on to Manila—such as, for example, the British intention to send heavy reinforcements, including capital ships, to their Far Eastern Fleet. Also, that the U. S. Pacific Fleet would not contribute. The command of the combined force, which was to include the U. S. Asiatic Fleet, would fall to the British as principal stockholders.

By November, the heavy British reinforcement plan was, by virtue of dire necessity at home, slimmed down to two capital ships, the old battlecruiser Repulse and the spanking new battleship Prince of Wales, flying the flag of Vice Admiral Sir Tom Phillips.

Admiral Glassford soon discovered that the China forces problem had been a relatively small fraction of the whole. The U. S. naval and Marine forces in the Far East numbered about 11,000, more than a third of the total American forces in the Far East (not counting Philippine Scouts or Philippine Army).

The current war plan (46) stated that the Fleet’s mission was to support the defense of the Philippine Islands and that it was up to the CinC Asiatic Fleet to decide what components to use to that end. It was clear that the initial deployment of surface ships and large auxiliaries would be to the southwest, probably to base at Singapore. In fact, some U. S. spares and ammunition had already been secretly stored there. Also in the CinC’s hands rested the decision as to what ships, if any, were to pass to the strategic direction of any other commander, a power which Sir Tom Phillips would one day sadly rue.

The 1940-41 period had been one of preliminary but very definite moves to prepare for war in the not-too-distant future. In late 1940, all Navy dependents had been sent home, some 2,000 women and children. As a result, it had no longer been possible to find sufficient volunteers for a station where there had formerly been an enthusiastic oversufficiency. The new arrivals had been drafted against their desires and were those who had never served a Far East tour. (It is ironic that those who never had. wanted to go were those who were sent at the fatal time, and half or more subsequently were killed or captured.)

This period was also marked by the beginning of publicity and speeches in the United States directly threatening to the Japanese. Admiral Hart had viewed this tendency with alarm, because, as he said, “nothing is ever gained by threatening the Japanese, their psychology being such that threats are likely to prevent their exercise of correct judgment.”

The Commandant, 16th Naval District, was responsible for joint Army-Navy defense planning in the Philippines, but this arrangement was neither sound nor workable. Not only had Com 16 no combat forces other than a few Marines, but since late December 1940, there had been no Com 16. The incumbent had been invalided home and his relief did not arrive for six weeks. In six months, after a long period of more or less suspended animation, he, too, was invalided home. It was only about four weeks before war’s outbreak that Rear Admiral Francis W. Rockwell arrived. In view of this chaotic situation, Admiral Hart had informed General MacArthur in August that he, Hart, would in all respects replace Com 16 as Commanding General USAFFE’s opposite number in planning.

All this feverish activity, actual and potential, made it clear that the cruiser flagship Houston was not adequate for housing CinCAF’s greatly augmented staff and communications. The most suitable space ashore was in a building on the waterfront which the State Department was planning to use for the U. S. consul and trade commissioner. An effort was made to obtain this building, but the State Department proved entirely non-co-operative, so the Navy made-do with the Marsman Building, a less suitable structure.

The first face-to-face business meeting between Admiral Hart and General MacArthur, on the former’s request, was a two-and-a half- hour conference on 22 September 1941. On his part, Admiral Hart explained the Navy’s deployment to the south and the reasons therefore. He recorded that, “At the end of a rather long recital, General MacArthur replied that, ‘the Navy had its plans, the Army had its plans and that we each had our own fields. The Army is glad to know of the Navy’s plans but its own plans are virtually independent thereof and there seems no possibility of conflict between them.’ He had no questions whatever, made no suggestions and offered no objections. The impression was that the Commanding General thought that close collaboration was not vital.”

Lest one conclude that the state of affairs existing in Manila was a unique example of incompatible personalities, one has only to turn to other theaters of “joint” action. Lack of space limits our examples to a typical case in Panama, where the U. S. Army Canal Command inadvertently included the 15th Naval District Commandant in a “button up” order implementing a 17 June alert. The Commandant himself did not deign to reply, leaving it to his chief of staff to cut the General down to size:

The 15th Naval District not being a part of the command of the Panama Canal, and orders from that source having no authority in said district, enclosed order is returned herewith. If it becomes necessary to communicate important information to the Commandant 15th Naval District, he may be found through telephone 2-2661 or 2-2662.

It can only be said that one sharpened one’s teeth on one’s friends, presumably the better to be able some day to cope with the enemy.

In spite of General MacArthur’s apparent disinclination to work in total harmony with Admiral Hart, it appears that some of the General’s optimism had rubbed off on the Admiral in spite of himself. Toward the end of October 1941, he proposed to his staff that they should consider fighting the war from Manila Bay rather than deploying to the southwest. (Admiral Hart had been in the Far East long enough to be disabused of the “blood is thicker than water” theory concerning the British.)

In October 1941, Admiral Hart wrote a letter to General MacArthur dated the 23rd, and on the 27th sent a message to the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations. Of the message, more later. The letter to MacArthur was on the subject of air operations and joint planning. In the case of Army aircraft operating over water, Admiral Hart suggested that for the sake of mutual safety and optimum results, the Army aircraft, while in the vicinity of Navy ships, should fall under Navy operational control. If that were not feasible or acceptable, Admiral Hart urged that at least there be close liaison in planning, principally for safety but also for economy of effort.

MacArthur’s long reply was two weeks in gestation and lowered the boom with a thud. In part, it said:

Dear Admiral Hart,

“I have carefully considered your letter . . . embodying the suggestion of Naval control of Army Air Forces operating against an enemy who is on or over the water. I find the proposal entirely objectionable. . . .

It is possible that under extraordinary conditions elements of an Army Air Force in support of a Fleet might advantageously operate under temporary naval direction, but in this sense, the term ‘Fleet’ cannot be applied to the two cruisers and the division (sic) of destroyers that comprise the combat surface elements of your command. This is especially striking when judged in comparison either with the potential enemy naval forces in the Western Pacific or with the Air Force of this Command which is rapidly being built up to an initial strength of 170 heavy bombers and 86 light bombers, with pursuit in proportion. It would be manifestly illogical to assign for control or tactical command such a powerful Army air striking force to an element of such combat inferiority as your Command. . . .

If bombing operations should be undertaken by the Army against objectives situated over-sea, you would of course be informed and consulted if available, but if your paragraph 8 intends to convey the thought that such a mission could not be undertaken without your concurrence, the point is untenable.

/s/ Douglas MacArthur

That General MacArthur apparently suspected that Hart was out to highjack his airplanes is suggested by the fact that he immediately ventured his opinion to the War Department that the Navy was seeking, “control of the Army’s Air Force.”

On 27 October, four days after Hart addressed the letter to MacArthur which evoked the foregoing devastating reply, Hart had requested the Navy Department by message to approve his plan to make Manila his major base of operations rather than be prepared to deploy to the southwest as per the war plans. With the slowness which characterized much of the Navy Department’s business with the Asiatic Fleet, the Chief of Naval Operations failed to furnish a decision on this basic proposal until 20 November, when he at last replied, “No!” There was of course by this juncture not enough time to carry out alternate plans to shift the necessary thousands of tons of supplies and equipment to a more southerly point, even if a suitable place could have been agreed on at that stage of the game.

General MacArthur’s delayed rebuff to Hart’s proposal to enter into adequate arrangements for joint operations of Army and Navy units over the sea, plus the incredible delay in policy decision on the part of the Navy Department, left Hart with the painful choice of abandoning his base, or staying to fight without air cover. Apparently without consulting the Army, the Navy Department made Hart’s choice for him. “Deploy your ships to the south!” they in effect peremptorily directed.

Not aware of it, but in the tradition of the condemned man eating a hearty breakfast, the 27th Bombardment Group gave a gay party in the Manila Hotel on the 7th of December (6th, U. S. time) with the best entertainment this side of Minsky’s, it was reported.

Joining in the fun were Rear Admiral W. R. Purnell and Brigadier General R. K. Sutherland, U. S. Army (Hart’s and MacArthur’s chiefs of staff), and Major General L. H. Brereton, the commander of MacArthur’s Air Force.

“It was only a question of days or perhaps hours, until the shooting started ...” Louis Morton quotes Purnell as saying. Sutherland agreed, adding that the War and Navy Departments believed the war might begin any time. Brereton was sufficiently impressed by these comments to instruct his chief of staff to place all air units on a combat alert, the effective time of which was to be Monday morning, 8 December.

Contrary to the opinions of those who cry “treason!”, the field commanders could scarcely have been better forewarned if the Japanese had dropped leaflets naming der tag. More than a week before the officers of the 27th Bombardment Group were watching the bumps and grinds of Filipina showgirls, Washington sent the following war warning to Lieutenant Generals Short (Hawaii) and MacArthur, with instructions to pass it to their naval opposite number. Its salient points are repeated here.

Negotiations with Japan appear to be terminated to all practical purposes with only the barest possibilities that the Japanese government might come back and offer to continue. Japanese future action unpredictable but hostile action possible at any moment. If hostilities cannot, repeat, cannot be avoided the United States desires that Japan commit the first overt act. This policy should not, repeat not, be construed as restricting you to a course of action that might jeopardize your defense. Prior to hostile Japanese action you are directed to undertake such reconnaissance and other measures as you deem necessary. . . .

Of more than ordinary interest is the phrase, “the United States desires that Japan commit the first overt act.” A notation by Admiral Hart perhaps throws some light on this. “There was one feature of the deployment which we never understood,” he writes. “About 1 December, OPNAV sent an unusually peremptory directive to send three small ships in on the Indo-China coast, as pickets. We were already scouting the coast by air (as cautiously as one can get airmen to act!!) and that is a more efficient method. It was a very minor movement but it ran counter to directives that our forces were to make no menacing moves, and we on the spot did not understand it.”

The directive referred to by Admiral Hart was on the direct order of President Roosevelt. There is strong evidence that the move was set up to provoke an incident similar in nature to that of the gunboat USS Panay, sunk in China in 1937 by irresponsible Japanese military. The motive was to inflame American and Filipino public opinion to support more enthusiastically a war against Japan. (Roosevelt specified that there be Filipino crew members.)*

To Secretary of State Henry L. Stimson, Donald Nelson (President of the War Production Board) and others, Roosevelt confided his belief that we would be at war with Japan “in a few days” after the 2nd of December. “We must somehow maneuver them into fireing the first shot!” he told Secretary Stimson.

Actually, the “three small vessels” were not required; the Japanese furnished a far more satisfactory provocation at Pearl Harbor.

On 2 December, Sir Tom Phillips’ two battleships arrived at Singapore, and on the 5th, Phillips himself arrived in Manila for a high level conference. Present were admirals Hart, Glassford, and Purnell, and Generals MacArthur and Sutherland, with several staff officers from both navies.

Admiral Phillips dominated the meeting. He spoke in detail of British plans and available forces. Their basic policy, he explained, was protection of sea routes and convoys—a trend toward dispersal of forces, featuring the control of trade routes over broad areas. He reported considerable progress in joint planning and communications groundwork with the Dutch, but they had not been able to get any concrete commitments from the Australians and New Zealanders, both of whom held out and retained the idea of concentrating their own ships in home waters in case of war with Japan.

It was here that Admiral Hart heard for the first time that the British had been assured by Roosevelt of American armed support in any of the four contingencies having to do with Japanese aggression—against Thailand, the Netherlands East Indies, Singapore, or a combination.

Supported by this information, Phillips urgently requested the immediate loan of two destroyer divisions, eight ships. There was considerable argument between the two naval seniors, Hart and Phillips, on various subjects, but chiefly on the destroyer issue. There was, however, a basic conflict between British and American views: protection of trade routes versus American favoring of naval concentration prepared for direct combat. One result of this was that all through the period leading up to the war, there never was any agreement with the British (and Dutch) under which strategic control of the Asiatic Fleet was to pass out of American hands. Only “co-operative action” was provided for. There was not even any discussion at the conference of a supreme naval command.

Admiral Phillips was deeply interested in U. S. land force capabilities, personally described by MacArthur, who only recently had radically altered U. S. Far East war plans to the extent that they now envisaged the defense of the entire Philippine archipelago rather than Luzon only.

Phillips had two basic proposals: (1) the defense of Luzon rather than the Philippine Islands as a whole, and, (2) support of the British Navy in Malaya by the U. S. Navy. MacArthur was not willing to scrap his all- Philippine defense, but offered to put in writing for Phillips that he would hold Luzon indefinitely. This furnished further justification and pressure on Hart to give Phillips the two divisions of U. S. destroyers he wanted— eight of Hart’s 13 ships of this type. The fact that Washington had just directed Hart to deploy his ships to the south, even though unamplified, further tended to confirm Phillips’ claim of promised American aid.

During MacArthur’s exposition of U. S. Army capabilities, he mentioned to Phillips that, “Admiral Hart and I operate in the closest co-ordination. We are the oldest and dearest of friends. There will be nothing that will not instantly respond by the combined, co-ordinated efforts of we two.” Then turning toward Admiral Hart, he added with a smile, “Isn’t that so, Tommy?” With a sharp recollection of MacArthur’s letter of assessment of Tommy’s “fleet,” it is understandable that Hart sat mute.

MacArthur’s closing passage indicated not only a somewhat unjustified optimism, but a rare lack of appreciation of the role and capabilities of air power as already well demonstrated in the German smash through Poland and their check at the channel by the British. “We intend to fight to destruction on the shore line!” MacArthur ringingly informed Phillips. “The inability of an enemy to launch his air attack on these islands is our greatest security. Most fighters are short ranged. Even with the improvised forces I now have, because of the inability of the enemy to bring not only air but mechanized and motorized elements, leaves me with a sense of complete security!”

To ensure that nothing that MacArthur had said would be disputed later, Hart sent the stenographic record of the proceedings to MacArthur to check.

MacArthur’s brave statement does not appear to have been an isolated sample of forced optimism just to pump up Tom Phillips; ten days before Pearl Harbor General Marshall informed MacArthur that, “The Secretary of War and I are highly pleased to receive your report that your command is ready for any eventuality!”

Phillips’ stay in Manila was short; on receipt of information that a large Japanese force was underway toward the Kra Isthmus, he hopped in his plane on the 6th and headed for Singapore.

In light of these developments, Admiral Hart on this same date softened to the point of diverting the destroyer tender Black Hauik and a division of four destroyers from Balik- papan, Borneo, to Batavia, Java, with instructions to detach the destroyers en route and send them to Singapore to report to Phillips. They arrived only in time to participate in the search for survivors from Phillips’ two heavies, finished off like sitting ducks by a swarm of Japanese aircraft unopposed by any Allied air cover.

This tragic and unnecessary loss of the only Allied capital ships in the Far East included the loss of their admiral, Tom Phillips, a leader who could ill be spared. He was, according to Admiral Hart, an exceptionally able man of broad knowledge and keen intuition, “I would be entirely content to serve under him [Phillips] and embrace the hope that my considerable seniority would not get in the way of doing so,” wrote Admiral Hart.

If nothing else, the loss of Phillips’ two heavies was shocking proof that it was not only Americans who suffered from grievous lack of air-surface co-operation and understanding.

The 5 December conference had served little purpose other than to exchange information. There had not even been any discussion of a combined command, combined action or combined plans.

As of the evening of 7 December (Manila time), Admiral Glassford, the newly appointed Commander Task Force 5, had no plans— simply the assumption that he would have to operate independently of allies. It was clear, of course, that in view of his southern deployment, he would not be supporting General MacArthur. As of this date, his flagship, the Houston, was at Iloilo, central Philippines. The tender Black Hawk and one destroyer division were at Tarakan, Borneo, and various other assigned ships were strung out all the way between Luzon and Java.

With the Houston, the new cruiser Boise, the tankers Pecos and Trinity (maximum speed six knots) and a small destroyer screen, Glassford set up Task Force 5. His scanty instructions were to act with discretion and maintain radio communication with the British. His proposal to divide into three task groups— one to operate in the western area in order to be available to support the British at Singapore or the Dutch in Java—was disapproved by Admiral Hart, who took a dim view of Glassford’s strong pro-British inclinations.

Largely blind except for Boise’s primitive radar, and lacking information or positive instructions, Glassford herded his heterogeneous little force southward. Set down in his brief notes is the well-justified complaint that, “ . . . not once during the ensuing days were our feeble efforts at sea either on the offensive or defensive, supported in the air. While lacking many things . . . we felt the lack of air support more than anything else. Granted that even though the planes had been at hand, such was the lack of mutual understanding and joint plans between the Navy and the various air forces, including the U. S. Army Air Force it is probable the sea forces would have suffered just the same.”

At 0230, 8 December 1941 (Manila time) “AIR RAID ON PEARL HARBOR,” crackled over the radio circuit at Navy headquarters in Manila. The operator at once recognized in the distinctive keying of the hand-sent message the radio “fist” of an old friend at Pearl Harbor. It was a solid guarantee that the remainder of the transmission, “THIS IS NOT A DRILL,” was authentic.

In spite of this warning, there would occur that same day on Luzon a disaster perhaps less spectacular than Pearl Harbor but nevertheless a disaster which would wholly alter the course of events in the Far East. This was the nearly complete destruction of Mac- Arthur’s air force, largely while sitting helplessly on the ground.

How could such a thing happen?

A mixed bag of circumstances contributed to this heavy blow: underestimation of the enemy, poor planning, inadequately trained flight and ground crews, short range antiaircraft guns shooting superannuated ammunition, pure chance, and just plain confusion.

Few written records survive to nail down without question who did what and when. The views put forward by the principals— Mac Arthur, Sutherland (chief of staff), Brereton (Air Force commander) and Colonel E. L. Eubank (bomber commander) and others, not only varied widely one from the other, but in many cases later radically changed from the original versions. There was at least one person whose views were not clouded by equivocation or double talk: Major General Henry Arnold, Chief of the U. S. Army Air Corps. Having telephoned Brereton immediately after Pearl Harbor and warned him about getting caught on the ground, he naturally enough was not in a cheerful mood when he called a second time after hearing of the very disaster he had just cautioned against. “How in hell,” a furious Arnold shouted at Brereton over the static background of the transpacific telephone, “could an experienced airman like yourself get caught with your planes down?”

A few indisputable facts stand out of the confusion. At about 0500, General Brereton tried to see General MacArthur to get his permission to bomb Formosa as soon as the planes could be readied. He managed to penetrate only as far as the chief of staff, Sutherland, who told him to prepare for the attack but to await MacArthur’s approval before heading north.

Meanwhile, the Japanese on Formosa had been delayed in their take-off by ground fog, and were suffering a first-class case of jitters in expectation of American bombs raining down on them before they could shout, “Banzai!” and head south.

A small, early morning enemy raid over north Luzon had alerted U. S. fields and all U. S. planes took off, the bombers without bombs, in observance of Arnold’s injunction not to be caught napping on the ground. By 1130, the “all clear” having been sounded, Brereton’s bombers landed in order to arm for the raid on Formosa now tentatively scheduled for late afternoon. Anti-aircraft and plane crews were enjoying a routine lunch, when about noon, completely without any local warning, high explosives came shrieking down from 108 twin-engined bombers, escorted by 84 Zero fighters. At Clark Field, all but one of the B-17s were lined up on the runways. Our fighters were just readying for take-off. At Iba Field, American fighters, low on gas, were just circling to land.

For two hours the Japanese strafed and bombed. Our obsolete 3-inch anti-aircraft guns, shooting ammunition made as far back as 1932, lobbed shells thousands of feet short. A majority of the fuses were duds. It was a sorry show. In one day of war, the U. S. Far East Air Force had been eliminated as an effective weapon, its bases smashed and half its planes destroyed.

The British and Americans shared several misconceptions concerning the Japanese: over- as well as under-estimations. The widespread photographic activity and insatiable curiosity of the Japanese “tourist” suggested that Japanese intelligence knew everything about everything. Such was not the case. Their knowledge of critical landing areas in northern and western Luzon was so deficient that they flew high altitude reconnaissance during the first week of December, in spite of the risk of tipping the hand which held the vitally important “imperial flush” at Pearl Harbor. These reconnaissance flights were picked up by the Americans and correctly assessed. The imminence of war’s outbreak was so generally accepted, however, that such Japanese moves were merely the icing on the cake.

Surprisingly enough, the Japanese did not even have a very accurate order of battle of our Far Eastern forces, something which in those days was generally more or less a matter of public knowledge. Of the higher level information, they knew little or nothing. Such juicy items as the basic fundamentals of, “Orange War Plan 3,” familiar to every U. S. staff officer who had ever served in the Philippines, were a dark secret to the meticulous Japanese planners. Had they had the slightest inkling that all U. S. plans and preparations led to a final stand in Bataan, the Japanese most assuredly would have made efforts to prevent the concentration there of our widely scattered forces. Their failure to do so cost them much time and trouble later.

A second Allied misconception was our low estimate of Japanese military effectiveness. This expensive mistake could be attributed partly to ignorance, partly to an erroneous evaluation of Japanese performance in China, and partly to characteristic Anglo-American arrogance and a weakness for believing our own propaganda. Excellent Japanese security measures took care to foster these delusions.

It thus came as a rude shock when “nearsighted Jap aviators,” in “bad copies of foreign aircraft,” massacred Allied aircraft and ships with little or no loss to themselves. It was no less a surprise when “top-heavy, un- seaworthy Jap ships” accurately slammed home torpedoes with a hitherto unheard of 1,000-pound explosive charge, while our Mark-14 500-pounders regularly failed to explode although they might be heard to thud into the enemy’s side plating.

Colonel Masanobu Tsuji, chief of operations of the Malaya invasion force, was mildly astonished, then pleased, then contemptuous as the British retreat accelerated, with hot meals left on mess tables. Whole regiments of Japanese mounted on bicycles, plugged along at 10 miles an hour over roads defended sporadically or not at all. It was one of the rare occasions in modern warfare where an advancing army bombed bridges in an attempt to avoid their destruction. The Japanese bombed their southern approaches in order to cut the demolition wires and thus save the bridges for their own later use.

The Japanese were grateful to the British for leaving intact the gasoline and military stores all neatly racked up on the various airfields, which in their haste, they failed to destroy. “Churchill airdromes,” the Japanese named them. “Without their excellent facilities our advance would have been much slower,” they reported.

The military strength of the Japanese and British armies in Malaya was as two to three. For the loss of 3,500 killed, the Japanese were to take roughly 100,000 prisoners and the riches of Malaya. Poor appreciation of enemy capabilities and audacity would cost the Allies dearly.

Two wholly unforeseen circumstances brought MacArthur’s plans and optimistic hopes crashing down: the loss of his air force, and the early collapse of resistance on the part of the ill-armed, poorly officered, hastily thrown together Philippine Army reserve divisions. (The combined U. S.-Philippine forces actually outnumbered the Japanese invaders two to one.)

After 10 December, which also marked the total destruction of the U. S. naval base at Cavite, events moved rapidly. “Our troops are doing well,” daily reported by radio Manila, soon came to be understood by all as a euphemism that our retreat continued. By 13 December 1941, our Army planes were no longer keeping the air except for spotty reconnaissance.

The outbreak of war had in no manner drawn Hart and MacArthur closer together. An operations conference between the two and a rousing Sunday afternoon cockfight in Santa Ana held much in common. “I knew the general was coming and had ready in my office the location chart showing where all submarines were. . . . He barely glanced at the chart,” Hart recounts, “and after I had gotten off one or two sentences, again launched forth into one of his characteristic ‘speeches’ about his own side of the war. It was only by using some sharpness and repeatedly interrupting him in turn that I was able to tell him anything of the Navy situation at all. He asked no questions whatever, evinced no curiosity, and as has too often been the case, the interview was quite futile as far as furthering any meeting of minds between us.”

It should be noted that the poor performance of our submarines against Japanese ships, caused by defective torpedoes, did nothing to improve Army-Navy relations. Years of “penny-pinching” budgets had prevented the test firing to destruction of torpedoes, which, had it been done, would have revealed their defects before they were ever fired in anger at an enemy.

On 23 December 1941, Admiral Hart saw a copy of a USAFFE message predicting the early retirement of all Army forces to Bataan and Corregidor, the first inkling he had had of such a near-impending action. His formal letter of 24 December to General MacArthur made clear his annoyance:

My liaison officer just brings me word that your Chief of Staff had notified him at 9 a.m. of your decision to declare Manila an open city tomorrow. Incidentally, I should record that I have received only 24 hours notice of any possibility of such action. While, as you have repeatedly been informed, it has been our intention to carry on the war here from submarines as long as possible, this denial of the use of the facilities within the metropolitan area very much shortens the period during which these operations can be carried out from here.

On short, short notice Hart now found himself a commander whose fleet was well over the horizon, whose submarines were accomplishing very little, and whose headquarters was about to have the rug rudely jerked out from under it. The naval base, of course, was ashes; Cavite no longer existed. There was thus little cause for Hart to linger. At noon on 25 December, he turned over to the Commandant 16th Naval District the command of all naval establishments in the Philippines and embarked in the submarine Shark, destination Java. There were no final handshakes. He instructed a subordinate to inform Mac- Arthur of his departure and that when he arrived at the other end he would let him know where he was. “Don’t call me; I’ll call you'' could be a thumbnail summary of the end of a something less than warm association.

Arriving at Surabaya, Java’s big naval base, on 1 January 1942, Hart proceeded to get his own house in order by setting up his Chief of Staff, Rear Admiral W. R. Purnell, as the de facto Commander in Chief Asiatic Fleet, with Rear Admiral Glassford afloat as Commander Task Force 5.

Hart had been tipped off by a 2 January message from Washington that a combined Supreme Allied Command was about to be set up, with him as top naval commander. He had testily informed Glassford that he wanted no part of it.

The 2nd of January brought further disquieting news in the form of a complaint from the Chief of Naval Operations, to the effect that the Asiatic Fleet was not exactly cutting the Japanese to ribbons, an unfortunate matter being widely aired in the U. S. press. MacArthur, it was later discovered, had had a strong hand in this. He had said nothing to Hart about it, but soon added more fuel to the flames. On 4 January, in a message to Washington, he warned that, “The absence of any U. S. naval threat is commencing to Portend failure in this entire theatre.” He concluded his message by saying that, “Before it is too late, we must achieve completely unified effort!” a passage which Hart no doubt immediately perceived as being not only irony compounded, but a bid for taking over control of what not so long ago MacArthur had described as something distinctly less than a “fleet.”

In his reluctance to assume supreme command of the combined U. S., Dutch, and British naval forces, Hart was no doubt motivated by a genuine dislike of elbowing aside a senior naval commander on his own home ground, Vice Admiral C. E. L. Helfrich. The latter was not only commander in chief of the Dutch naval forces in the Far East, but was also a cabinet officer—Minister of Marine of the Netherlands Indies.

Helfrich immediately made it clear to Hart that he felt the American reputation had already been badly damaged as a result of the war to date in the Philippines, not even to mention Pearl Harbor. In the future, his relations with Hart would be correct but not overly cordial. Of Helfrich, Hart mentioned that, “He was disposed not to be entirely frank as regards the state and readiness of his forces, sometimes moving his ships about without keeping me informed.”

The Supreme Allied Command (ABDACOM —American, British, Dutch, and Australian) was established on 10 January 1942 with General Sir Archibald Wavell at its head and Admiral Hart as naval commander. While there is not room here to relate its operations in detail, let it suffice to say that the same mixture of false optimism, clashing personalities, and differing interests was found to exist.

On 15 February, Singapore fell, and by 1 March, ABDACOM had ceased to exist and the Allied Naval Command in the Netherlands Indies was dissolved.

Americans and Filipinos would continue to fight on in the jungles of Bataan and on Corregidor for some weeks, but to all intents and purposes, the Japanese were now the sole possessors of the rich Asian empires of the Dutch, French, British, and Americans—a great triangle three thousand miles on a side containing almost 200,000,000 people.

Divided we had fallen.

In retrospect, one sees a strange anomaly; concurrently with buoyant optimism, even over-confidence, there existed an inescapable background of fatalistic defeatism. In the basic U. S. Army war plans, retreat to and concentration on Bataan was fundamental strategy. Yet, no mention was made of resupply or relief from the homeland. Six months’ supplies were envisaged, but this had not taken into account the 100,000 refugees whom we found behind our lines on Bataan and who had to be fed. At the same time, naval planners estimated a two-year island-by island fight to batter the fleet’s way from Hawaii to Manila. Clearly, without ever actually saying so anywhere in print, the defense forces in the Philippines were from the beginning written off as lost. Why did we not see it?

Admiral Hart mentions that even the highest echelons were overconfident, in that too many officers and men were left behind in Manila Bay. Four or five hundred might well have been brought out while it was still possible, even though risky; they were experienced and could have been profitably employed in theaters other than Manila Bay. A thousand naval personnel were in the beach defenses with the Marines, performing duties in the front lines for which they had no training whatever. Four thousand Marines and Navy were left on Luzon. About 800 men were lost in ships of no combat value, which should not have occurred. We simply sat as a bird charmed by a serpent, unwilling to recognize the inescapable fact that early and total disaster inexorably was closing in.

Let us examine where we went wrong in this expensive Far Eastern disaster. Primarily, there was no co-operation or joint planning between the U. S. Navy and the U. S. Army, particularly important in the case of the U. S. Army Air Corps. Nor was there any real effort to co-ordinate British-Dutch-U. S. arms before, or even after, “D” day. And, there was a basic difference in policy between the United States and the others in the employment of warships.

The new Allies, to their astonishment, found themselves facing not only first-class fighting men, but first class planners. Japanese sea and land tactics at night far surpassed ours. Their materiel was in many cases superior or more suitable for the area. Their ships and planes were faster and their operators drilled to a degree of keenness that only the Japanese soldier and sailor would have sustained.

Let it not be forgotten that almost simultaneously, the Japanese struck at British Malaya, Thailand, Singapore, Guam, Hong Kong, Wake, and the Philippines—as well as Pearl Harbor. In order to make those nearly simultaneous attacks, Japanese forces were spread dangerously thin—in major operations such as Malaya and the Philippines, considerably less in numbers than the defending forces. One can only admire the Japanese confidence, finesse, planning skill, and just plain gambler’s luck.

The U. S. forces, particularly the naval forces, suffered heavily from an unfamiliarity with their own operating areas, for years neglected in favor of more salubrious waters and pleasant resort beaches of Tsingtao and Chefoo. Familiarization trips to the southern Philippines, the Netherlands Indies, and Singapore over the decade preceding the war could have been counted on the fingers of one hand.

Our submarines made attack after attack on Japanese combatant and troop ships only to see their torpedoes fail to explode on direct hits. As a result, the U. S. subs took severe depth charge attacks in relatively shallow waters, and we were lucky not to lose them. Had U. S. torpedoes operated properly at this point in the war, Japanese losses would have been severe and the inevitable fall of the Philippines would have been considerably delayed.

General Wavell’s being placed in supreme command of the Allied forces—land, sea, and air—-augured well. The ABDA set-up should have accomplished a real unity of command and purpose under him. The fact is that a true unity was impossible—principally because the Supreme Command did not formulate plans for naval operations jointly with the naval and air staffs, so that a proper directive might be promulgated. Except that the Allied naval command controlled its own relatively efficient air reconnaissance, at no time was other air co-operation assured in making plans for operations involving the use of naval forces.

Aside from the above, there must be considered the inescapable difficulties of language—even between British and Americans, the difference in organization, administration, weapons, methods of supply, and operations. We suffered from hasty organization and a physical separation of executive personnel. One may summarize by saying that too often the answer was lacking to the pressing question, “ Who does what, and where is he?”

From the strictly U. S. point of view, difficulties were created by the lack of rapport between our two senior commanders, Hart and MacArthur, and between the two naval commanders, Hart and Glassford.

The personal conclusion of Admiral Hart is that with the forces we had in the Far East, we would have lost, even if the best conceivable plans and staff had been available and ready before December 1941. Be that as it may, the inescapable fact is that had divisions been less sharp, the damage done the common enemy would have been infinitely greater. The fall we experienced divided might have been inevitable in any case, but it would have been less precipitous and less humiliating. It was indeed this very humiliation which opened the way for the exit of the West from those parts—not just for the transitory duration of the Japanese occupation, but perhaps forever.