Great Pacific War: A History of the American-Japanese Campaign of 1931-33 (6 page)

While two of the Japanese destroyers went alongside the sinking
Sendai
Maru
to take off her troops, the others raced madly about in search of the hidden submarines, their depth charges throwing up vast geysers on every hand. But immediately after making their attack the submarines had dived to 150 feet, reloading their torpedo tubes as they went. The
S
11
, although badly shaken by a depth charge which exploded near enough to throw everyone in the boat off his feet, was kept well under control, and ten minutes later was “browning” the rear transports with four more torpedoes. As she did so,
S
15
came into action a mile ahead, and again the thunder of detonating torpedoes reverberated over the sea. This time three ships were hit. One sank in a few minutes, before anything could be done to save the troops on board; another showed signs of settling by the stern, while the third, though her engines were disabled, did not appear to be mortally injured. Just as
S
15
fired her last torpedo a Japanese destroyer sped down the track of air bubbles at thirty-five knots and let go two depth charges. The concussion was so powerful that the submarine was lifted almost bodily out of the water, and as she broke surface her hull was instantly riddled with shell from the destroyer's guns. The hatch was thrown open, and one man scrambled out, but at that moment more projectiles crashed through the sides of the wounded vessel and with a last convulsive plunge she vanished for ever. The sole survivor, a young seaman, was picked up by one of the destroyers.

In the meantime
S
11
, ignorant of the fate of her consort, had again dived to reload her tubes. Her commanding officer, Lieutenant Hockley, must have known the imminent danger he courted by remaining in the vicinity, now that the Japanese destroyers were racing about in all directions and lynx-eyed watchers in the airplanes overhead were scanning the sea. But doubtless he knew, also, the vital importance of doing as much harm as possible to the invading force before it reached land. Be that as it may, he decided to expend his last four torpedoes before leaving the scene. As his submerged speed was too low to permit him to overtake the uninjured transports, which were now far ahead, steaming for dear life, he turned his attention to the damaged ships. On the first of these he got two hits. Then a depth charge shook the boat so violently that a bad leak was started — or so it was surmised — and she was compelled to come to the surface. She rose rather more than a mile away from the nearest destroyer, and owing to the excitement of the hunt, or more probably to the mist which still partly shrouded the water, she was not immediately observed by her pursuers.

And now followed what the Japanese themselves acclaimed as one of the most heroic deeds of the war. Had Lieutenant Hockley so desired, he and his men might have surrendered with perfect safety, for the Japanese were chivalrous warriors who would assuredly have treated such doughty foemen with all honour. The submarine was disabled, since it could neither dive nor travel on the surface; but one weapon remained, and with it the chance of striking a last blow at the enemy. There is not the least doubt that Lieutenant Hockley and his crew deliberately elected to seize this chance, which, of course, meant certain death to one and all of them. No sooner, then, did the submarine break surface than the hatches were thrown open, ammunition was handed up from below, and the 4-inch gun opened rapid fire on the nearest transport.

If those on board the Japanese destroyers were amazed at this unexpected attack, they did not lose their presence of mind. In a flash, two of them had spun round and were charging straight down on the audacious submarine, which lay motionless on the surface, her gun belching forth shell after shell. It took barely two minutes for the Japanese greyhounds to cover the intervening distance, yet in that brief space of time the submarine fired many more rounds from her gun, and even scored a hit on the foremost destroyer. As a display of iron nerve and consummate courage, that of the gunners of
S
11
, who continued to work their piece as coolly as though at target practice, while every second brought the onrushing death nearer, has rarely been equalled, never surpassed.

The only accounts we have of this heroic drama of the sea are from Japanese eye-witnesses, who, however, have done ample justice to it. One of the destroyer officers tells the following story of the last moments of
S
11
:

As we raced on at full speed, the submarine, which up to then had fired at the transport Ilsen Maru, now trained her single gun on us, and let us have two shells, which killed several men. She fired again but missed, and then we were upon her. There were many sailors on deck, including those at the gun, and an officer stood on the conning-tower with his arms folded. They had no idea of surrendering, for a fresh charge was being placed in the gun just as we struck the vessel. Our sharp prow drove deep into the plating just abaft the conning-tower, cutting the submarine almost in two. She sank like a stone, and the momentum of our rush carried us some distance before we could return to the spot, which was marked by large air-bubbles and a widening patch of oil. One survivor was seen and picked up unconscious, only to die soon afterwards in spite of all our surgeon could do. The others must have been drawn down by the suction, for we never saw them after the collision. Thus perished a gallant ship and her crew!

But seldom has an act of self-sacrifice in war borne richer fruit. These two submarines of medium size had inflicted terrible punishment on the Japanese convoy. Five transports had been sunk or reduced to sinking condition; two more were so badly damaged that they had to be taken in tow after the troops on board had been transferred to other ships. The
Hanno
Maru
, torpedoed in the initial attack, would have remained afloat had it not been for the shells fired into her later on by the
S
11
, whose gun had been served with deadly effect. How many troops were lost in this daring submarine raid is still a matter for conjecture. The Japanese admitted that 2,000 were drowned, but the actual number, it is believed, was considerably higher. In any case it unquestionably delayed the second landing, and this might have had important consequences had the American forces in Luzon been in greater strength; for the thunder of guns and torpedoes off Jomalig had attracted American air scouts, who judged from the southerly course of the Japanese convoy that it was making for Lamon Bay, and promptly radio-phoned a message to that effect.

As soon as this intelligence reached headquarters at Manila, a flying column of 4,000 troops, with two field-gun batteries, was sent by railroad to Pagbilao and Laguimanoc, while aircraft were held ready to fly out from Cavite when word came that the transports were approaching land. No mine fields had been laid in Lamon Bay, nor did time permit of this deficiency being remedied. All that could be done was to throw up trenches at certain points inland upon which the invaders might be expected to converge, and dispose the handful of troops to best advantage. There was obviously no chance of stemming the tide of invasion at the seashore, for not only were the Japanese transports estimated to have 50,000 troops on board, but the barrage fire of their escorting vessels would speedily overwhelm the feeble American artillery. In these circumstances, it seemed the soundest strategy to concentrate the defence at Calamba, where the Japanese, marching inland on their way to Manila, would have to pass through a narrow defile. Active opposition at the point of landing was accordingly left to the airmen.

It was 5 p.m. on March 12 before the first Japanese warships steamed into Lamon Bay between Calbalete and Alabat Islands. They were heralded by strong squadrons of combat and bombing planes, which penetrated inland with the evident purpose of engaging such American machines as might be up, and so distracting their attention from the transports. Finding no one to oppose them, some of the Japanese aircraft cruised above the landing places at Port Lampon, while others reconnoitred the American position at Pagbilao and dropped bombs.

Still unconvinced that the landing would not be resisted, the destroyers approached to within 2,000 yards of the shore and poured a hot fire into the wooded heights overlooking the port. Not until this cannonade had continued for half-an-hour without drawing a single shot in reply did the transports begin to move in. It was then that the single American air scout, who had maintained his position at an altitude of four miles without being observed, flashed the news to the twenty waiting planes at Pagsanjan. A few minutes later found all of them up and heading for the sea at their maximum speed. But on this occasion the Japanese must have anticipated just such an attack, for they were not caught napping. As the American flyers passed over the coast a strong formation of hostile planes met and engaged them with the utmost fury. A wild
mêlée
now ensued, in which half the American machines were destroyed or sent down out of control, though not without disabling several of their opponents. Ten broke through the enemy formation and sped on towards the transports, coming as they did so under a well-aimed fire from naval anti-aircraft guns, which brought down three more. This left but seven planes in action. Nor were they able to attack under conditions so advantageous as those which their colleagues at Lingayan had turned to such good account on the previous night. Here the transports, being still some distance out, were moving at their best speed: moreover, they had enough sea room to zigzag, and thus hamper the airmen’s aim. This notwithstanding, one of them was sunk and three others were damaged by bombs, so that, at a narrow estimate, a thousand or more of the invading troops had been placed
hors
de
combat
. But on the American side nothing more could be done to hinder the landing. With their naval escort still shelling the deserted heights, and under a strong aerial screen, the transports moved in to discharge their living cargoes. Having no opposition to contend with, the disembarkation proceeded with great rapidity.

At dawn on the 13th at least 30,000 troops were ashore, with most of their light artillery and tanks, and a few hours later the landing was complete. Of the Japanese advance inland, and of the sanguinary action fought at Calamba, which ended in the virtual annihilation of the small American force after a stubborn resistance, it is unnecessary to speak at any length. The defenders did all that brave men could have done; but, outnumbered as they were by ten to one, their position was hopeless from the start. In the two landings at Lingayan and Lamon respectively and in the subsequent fighting ashore, the invaders had suffered, perhaps, 15,000 casualties, a loss out of all proportion to the size of the defending force. But the Japanese still had over 80,000 men in the two armies which were now advancing on Manila simultaneously from north and south.

During the next few days there were innumerable skirmishes, many of them unrecorded, between the Japanese advance guards and small parties of American sharpshooters. But the inevitable end came on March 19, when General O’Neill, with less than 2,000 fit men left under his command, was forced to capitulate in order to spare Manila the horrors of bombardment. Although severely censured at the time by American critics who were ignorant of the circumstances, this decision was, without doubt, both wise and morally courageous. Further resistance had become absolutely impossible; to have attempted it would not only have led to the useless sacrifice of the few Americans who remained alive, but brought death and destruction to the teeming populace of Manila.

Five days before the capitulation, the American destroyers and submarines in Manila Bay were ordered to break out to Guam. The majority got through safely, but submarine
S
10
was blown up on a Japanese mine, and the destroyer
Osborne
was chased and sunk by light cruisers. The old cruiser
Cleveland
, being too slow to run the gauntlet of the blockading fleet, was scuttled by her crew, as was
S
19
, whose machinery was out of order. Very little war booty remained for the victors, General O'Neill having ordered the demolition of all military material, such as guns, airplanes, etc., on the eve of the surrender. The Japanese troops, under General Kimura, entered the city on March 20. In recognition of their gallant defence, the American Commander-in-Chief and his staff were permitted to retain their swords.

On the previous day a Japanese expeditionary force, consisting of two divisions — about 50,000 men — had landed at Sindangan Bay, on the island of Mindanao, and was advancing on Zamboanga. As the garrison of Mindanao did not exceed 5,000 men, including militia and constabulary, no effectual resistance could be offered to the invasion. In the course of the same week the islands of Samar and Panay were occupied by smaller Japanese detachments. Cavite, the naval station near Manila, became the headquarters of a submarine flotilla from Sasebo, and more of these vessels were based at Davao Bay (Mindanao). In addition, about 500 military aircraft were assigned to strategic bases in the Archipelago.

By the end of March Japan could thus claim to have achieved the first of her war aims: the capture of the Philippines, which had been in the possession of the United States for thirty years. American strategists, knowing the vulnerability of these islands on account of their comparative proximity to Japan and their remoteness from the nearest developed American naval base, had always calculated on their speedy fall in the event of war with Japan; but to the nation at large the disaster, if not unexpected, nevertheless came as a heavy blow.