Read an extract from The Battle of the Generals by Roland Perry.
Read a section of The Battle of the Generals by Roland Perry, the true story of two great Allied generals of the Pacific War who faced off against the Imperial Japanese Army - and each other.
11
War Councils
Weeks before Curtin had MacArthur foisted on him as his commander-in-chief, the Australian prime minister had ordered Blamey to return to Australia to run the armed forces with the prospect of a Japanese invasion.
Like Menzies, Curtin had great faith in Blamey. He had proven himself an outstanding military organiser and commander once more in World War II after a strong record in World War I. And, politically, he was able to fend off those who wanted his position. Blamey was a fine tactician without tact. He bruised military egos among the Australian and British generals, but most, even if begrudgingly, respected him.
Even so, Blamey’s imminent return to Australia sparked the so-called ‘Generals’ Plot’ of March, when a group of militia and regular army staff corps approached Army Minister Frank Forde with the aim of replacing Blamey and his staff. Forde viewed this as nothing more than disgruntled power-hungry senior officers pursuing their own advancement. It was not done with the nation’s interests at heart and the ‘coup’ fizzled out, although it was really never more than a timid affair. Cynical observers believed these internal struggles in the Australian Army meant more energy was aimed at rivals within than the enemy without. And it was not always just the simplistic analysis that militia officers were opposed to regular army officers, although this was a big factor.
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On 26 March, when Curtin met MacArthur, the battles in New Guinea were in full swing in the air. The Japanese were pushing south and Australia was scrambling to bolster its defences. An American air force squadron of Douglas SBD Dauntless dive-bombers arrived in Port Moresby, which added to the bombing capacity of Australia’s 75 Squadron of Kittyhawks, led by John Jackson. He set the pattern for the inferior Kittyhawks tackling the Zeroes, having learnt from his short time in the Middle East when he fought against German Messerschmitts. Jackson instructed his pilots to fly above the enemy planes and to power down on them, all guns blazing. His flyers were told to then ease away, knowing that the Zeroes could not match their speed.
His squadron pilots were unhappy that they could not engage in dogfights. They were disciplined, yet it still took enormous courage to dive on planes that were better fighting machines.
Jackson’s brother Les demonstrated the classic way to take on the Zeroes. When doing routine defence reconnaissance, he was radioed about an approaching enemy contingent of thirteen Zeroes and bombers heading for Moresby. He broke from his squadron and climbed high above the Zeroes. Then he swooped down through the enemy group, his guns firing. The bombers were stunned. They dropped their loads short of Moresby and fled, escorted by the confused Zeroes, who chose to stay with the bombers rather than climb into the clouds to find this fearless rogue Kittyhawk.
The Japanese rule over the Pacific airways was being challenged for the first time.
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Curtin introduced MacArthur, the general’s chief of staff, R.H. Henderson, and deputy chief of staff, Dick Marshall, to Australia’s War Council members in Canberra on 26 March.
The council, with Australian military chiefs noticeably absent, sat in awe as MacArthur reported on the Pacific War. Even former prime minister and noted talker Billy Hughes was mute as the general covered territory that few of the council members had been near.
MacArthur was deferential to all of them, particularly Curtin and Menzies. He began by explaining that Roosevelt’s order for him to leave the Philippines had come as a ‘complete surprise’.
At the time he was ‘in a desperate struggle against the Japanese’. Again, this was meant to dispel any slurs against him regarding his hurried departure that left his troops to the mercy of the enemy.
MacArthur spoke of the strength of the Japanese military, whose navy, army and air force ‘worked as one machine’. Blamey would have disputed this claim because he and other Australian military personnel in intelligence knew this was untrue. The Japanese Navy and Army had been in a power struggle ever since Japan invaded China in 1931. But Blamey had not been invited to the War Council meeting and only heard about the general’s claims later.
MacArthur went further and mentioned that he had been ‘greatly impressed by their complete co-ordination’. It helped explain, and even excuse, how his force had been overwhelmed.
‘The Japanese were formidable fighters,’ he informed the council. ‘The vast number of their common soldiers was one degree removed from savages.’ They were also ‘front runners’.
They could be beaten if opposed by well-organised troops. ‘The European Theatre [of war] is not predominant,’ he told them, ‘the Pacific is the real centre . . . Australia must stand firmly in its view that the Pacific is the predominant theatre’.
Not even Menzies, who had always sided with Churchill, questioned this claim, which was aimed at the government’s ignorance and parochialism.
MacArthur put their minds at ease to a degree when he said, ‘It is doubtful whether the Japanese will undertake an invasion of Australia. The spoils don’t warrant the risk.’
He had been wrong repeatedly about the Japanese attacking Pearl Harbor and taking Malaya, Singapore, Thailand, Burma, Timor and his beloved Philippines. So just in case he misjudged the enemy yet again, he added a little get-out clause: ‘The Japanese might try to overrun Australia to show their superiority over the white races.’ He thought that ‘the main danger was from [air] raids’.
The Japanese would also attempt to secure air bases in Australia.
No one on the council attempted to fill in the gaps in the frequent pauses in his sometimes melodramatic delivery of this chilling news.
MacArthur had a countermeasure.
‘Anti-aircraft defence will need to be increased for the main cities and air stations,’ he told them.
Near the end of the meeting, MacArthur turned to Curtin and said, ‘We’ll see this thing through together. You take care of the rear, and I will handle the front.’
Curtin was relieved. Instead of facing possible invasion by a powerful military that was gobbling up countries at a fast rate, he now had a vision of a powerful ally defending Australia.
The American Ambassador to Canberra presented MacArthur with the Congressional Medal of Honor that night at a dinner for the MacArthurs and his staff at Parliament House. The ambassador read a speech prepared by the general’s own staff. It spoke of the general’s ‘gallantry and intrepidity’, his ‘heroic conduct’, ‘calm judgement in each crisis’, and ‘utter disregard of personal danger under heavy fire and aerial bombardment’.
It was more propaganda to justify the flak from the Allies’ enemies, and even some in the US, where eyebrows were raised for awarding this highest accolade to someone who wasn’t a front-line soldier. Once again, MacArthur’s public relations machine was cranked up and the media was reminded that American aviator Charles Lindbergh was given the award for his 1927 transatlantic flight. MacArthur responded that the medal was ‘not so much for me personally as it is a recognition of the indomitable courage of the gallant army which it is my honor to command’.
He could not resist stepping onto his soapbox. ‘I have come as a soldier in a great crusade of personal liberty as opposed to perpetual slavery,’ he said, gripping everyone, especially the press, with his slow, deliberate and emotional delivery. ‘My faith in our ultimate victory is invincible.’
This would have sounded hollow to the soldiers he abandoned in the Philippines, who called him ‘Dugout Doug’ (meaning he never came near the front line) and spoke about how he had ‘cut and run’. But the Australian leaders, and scribbling reporters and snapping photographers, gave his neo-thespian tendencies an opportunity for a new show.
‘There can be no compromise,’ he said, chin thrusting. ‘We shall win, or we shall die.’ He paused for the longest time here, letting the drama of this simple, stark truism of war sink in. Then, with a further flourish, he added to even greater effect: ‘To this end I pledge the full resources of all the mighty power of my country and all the blood of my countrymen!’
This was quite a dedication that not even Roosevelt would dare say, and he was the only American with the constitutional right to say it. The press lapped it up. One Australian reporter wrote that the speech was ‘terrific’.
MacArthur glanced often at Curtin as he spoke, and the prime minister’s expression was of full attention, but also a little curiosity. No one in Australian life ever enthralled audiences like this. People were spellbound, inspired and had a renewed sense of optimism.
Extracted from The Battle of the Generals by Roland Perry.
The Battle of the Generals
by Roland Perry
MacArthur, Blamey and the defence of Australia in World War II.
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