Chapter 203, DLI HQ, Leizhou, 7 June 1942
The infantry platoon surprised the locals with the smartness of their drill, the cleanliness of their uniforms and the obvious cheer as they stamped their way into the square outside of the run-down building where 10 DLI had their battalion headquarters. Major Lumsden, alerted to the platoon’s arrival by one of the clerks, dragged himself away from the battalion’s sick list with relief and, putting on his battle bowler (his forage and service caps were lost somewhere with the the brigade’s missing baggage), wandered down the uneven stairs to where the platoon now formed up as their commander, a young second lieutenant, inspected his men.
“Sir,” his platoon sergeant murmured, but loud enough for the entire square to hear. “Looks like ‘Colonel’s coming.”
The Lieutenant whipped around, a look of panic marring his otherwise perfect bearing. “Platoon, present, arms!”
Belsay was apparently oblivious to the disruption that his arrival had prompted. Returning the salute as smartly as it was offered, he spotted Lumsden and stalked towards him. “Brigade has gone bloody mad,” he said as a greeting to his 2IC.
“One of the few things in this uncertain world of which I am certain,” Lumsden said grandly, winking outrageously at the Lieutenant who now marched towards the two senior officers. “Dare I suggest that your arrival portents news of our imminent deployment?”
“We’re off to clear a settlement near the route of advance,” Belsay said as he read through his orders. “Classic single battalion stuff: march up along the road to Xinpocun and then we peel off, secure the objective, and deny its use to the enemy. Another step towards capturing Zhanjiang.”
Lumsden looked at the fresh platoon, realising that they gave the wrong impression of the state of the DLI. “Did the general know...”
“...that we’re knackered? Of course. But when you compare us to the Green Howards and the Northumbrian Fusileers we’re as fresh as a daisy. The Tyneside Irish are still a bloody shambles, led by a junior Major. And anyway, it’s all your bloody fault.”
“Mine, Sir?”
“Yours. If your boats hadn’t got bloody lost and landed on the wrong beach on Hainan you would have seen combat like the rest of us. Because of you we’re one of the stronger battalions.”
The Lieutenant had been stood nearby, but at a discreet distance, and Belsay realised that he was being rude. “Hullo, who are you?”
“Lieutenant Carr, Sir, and reinforcements for ‘battalion.”
“Belsay, Colonel Belsay, CO. This is Major Lumsden, our second in command.”
Lumsden grinned broadly. “Come far, have you, er, Carr?” Belsay snorted at Lumsden’s unintended rhyming.
“Depot, Gib, Alex, Calcutta, Singers, and the South China Sea. We all thought you’d be well inland on Hainan by now, Sir.”
“So did General Morgan boy,” Belsay snapped. “Have you rations and ammunition?”
“Sir, and all our luggage.”
“Leave the luggage hear, form up with the rest of the battalion and take rations and ammunition for two days. We’re going for a little stroll.”
“Where, Sir?”
Belsay was exasperated. “Why don’t you come with us, Lieutenant, and then you might find out?”
The battalion marched happily enough; Belsay did note, however, that Carr and his new platoon were struggling and decided that he should have given them a guard duty back in Leizhou that would have given them time to settle in. Muttering a curse, he decided to use the march as an opportunity to chat to the troops.
It was a simple enough routine; Belsay would ‘fall in’ with a platoon and would hand out a few chocolate bars (one thing that was seemingly in abundant supply was chocolate), chat to the troops and reassure them; their main concern was a lack of rest time and concerns over the sheer scope of the campaign ahead. Then Belsay would march in step with the NCOs and officers, and here, again, the eager young battalion had aged, it seemed by years rather than weeks, with cynicism and criticism of command, normally unheard of in the DLI, now commonplace. Belsay realised that every mile gained in this campaign would cost the DLI a little bit more of its character, not to mention its innocence.
They wheeled hard left off the road and over open, rough country. Belsay guessed that they had made better time than anticipated and so called a halt, telling the men to rest whilst he gathered his ‘O Group’ under the shade of a copse of trees.
“Right, the objective is this. Just beyond that small wood,” he pointed ahead of them “is a slight valley with our ridge seperated from the other ridge, on which the objective sits, by that valley, which looks from the map to be a mile and a bit wide. Our objective is a collection of small farm buildings on the top of the valley, which is close to the bloody road we need to use if we’re capture that damned city yonder.”
Belsay waited for them to take notes. “The problem, the niggling problem, is that there is reported to be very little cover, save for the valley itself. As we close the objective, we’ll wait for nightfall by sheltering in the wood. As the light fades, Lieutenant Copfield will go forward with his platoon and recce the valley. The rest of us will wait in the woods, I’ll hold another ‘O’ Group to detail the plan of attack when we have Copfield’s report. The wood is itself sunken slightly, so we’ll have a couple of ridges between us and the Japs. From now on, no talking, no chatting, we’ll filter into the woods slowly and with care.”
Lumsden raised a hand. “Enemy strength?”
“Expected to be no more than two understrength companies. At the most, a battalion. But we’ll go in just before dawn, surprise the hell out of ‘em and carry the position.”
The ‘O’ Group dispersed and after a few minutes spent rousing weary infantrymen the files stumbled and cursed quietly as they trudged along yet another muddy field, heading for the cover of the woods. By the time that Major Barnard’s company were safely ensconced under the tall trees it was already dusk; the rest of 10 DLI struggled through the growing darkness, the unyielding rocks, and the tall grass. Most of the men were tired, most were also fairly confident. They only suffered one loss from straggling: the rather tired forty-five year old officer from the Royal Army Service Corps who had come forward to take an inventory of any enemy items captured. As he was, with some mutual relief, permitted to return to Leizhou he was quietly jeered by the infantrymen. It was a cold, cloudless night, and after brushing aside the concerns of some of the officers that the battalion was too tightly massed, the CO of 10 DLI did what every other infantryman was doing that evening; sat quietly and pretended to be sleeping.
Belsay must have dozed off; the light was different and Lumsden looked exhausted. “What time is it?”
“A little after one, Sir. Young Copfield has returned. Japs are pretty lively over there,” he waved in the direction of the distant ridge.
“Casualties?”
“Two wounded, one quite badly.”
That shook Belsay from his dozy sleepiness, and he clipped on his webbing and put on his battle bowler. He wandered through the woods that housed 10 DLI that morning, stopping when he found Lieutenant Copfield and his recce platoon. Copfield, by far Belsay’s best subaltern, was grinning broadly. As Belsay peered through the gloom he understood; the platoon had captured a Japanese patrol.
“Lieutenant, if, by some divine miracle, you also reveal to me that you speak fluent Japanese, then I will hand the battalion over to you and retire to Northumberland.”
Copfield’s grin showed in the darkness. “’fraid not Sir. But they were actively patrolling the valley. These boys” he looked at the sullen Japanese “were only one of half a dozen patrols.”
Belsay swore, which roused more than one sleeping infantryman. “Anything else?”
Copfield looked concerned. “I think they’ve dug in over there.”
“They’re expecting us?"
“Seems so, Sir.”
“Well, they’re not stupid then. Thank you Lieutenant.”
Belsay kept the dark thoughts now taking hold of him firmly to himself. He walked back towards his temporary HQ, Lumsden in tow. Despite the fact that the entire battalion (or the greater part of it, at least) was spread out not far away from the two officers, Belsay felt that he and Lumsden were quite alone.
Lumsden could sense his CO’s gloomy mood. “We’ll be alright, Sir.”
“Just this once, I’m glad for that. ‘O’ Group, ten minutes.”
The ‘O’ Group gathered at the HQ a few moments later. Belsay revealed the limited intelligence gained from looking at the Japanese patrol’s maps, which suggested that the enemy was deployed in far greater strength and with a much higher level of preparation that previously envisaged.
“So here’s the plan. Four phases, taking us from night into day. Major Barnard, one platoon from your company to reconnoitre the last few miles to the start line and secure it. Major Lumsden and Major Barnard will then advance North through the Japanese first positions, taking the left and right respectively. Major Gledhill, your men will advance through Major Barnard’s men on the right to keep up the attack, and you will in turn be passed again by Major Barnard, who has the honour of capturing the settlement. I want this done before it gets light, so ‘stand to’ I think.”
The recce platoon was led by the ever worried Lieutenant Carr. For the next fifteen minutes they probed cautiously along the tracks leading up the ridge. They found a small stream, and waded in up to their thighs in freezing water, checking that it was passable, wasn’t defended. But Carr was, with some relief, soon able to report that the start line was secured. Belsay, thankful that his first phase was completed, ordered the thin files of the various companies to their start lines.
“Sir, may I wish you a successful morning?” Lumsden, ever grand, held out his hand.
Shaking the hand, Belsay couldn’t resist a flash of his notorious waspishness. “For God’s sakes, Valentine, we’re fighting a minor battalion engagement, not the battle of Blenheim!” It was said with a smile and the Major took command of his company with a grin.
Lumsden’s ‘A’ Company set off first, Lumsden advancing his men broadly in the classic formation: two companies forward and one kept slightly back. Making the best use of the limited cover they descended into the valley happily enough, but 500 yards short of the target Belsay, watching from the top of one ridge saw the top of the other one explode in a display of light and noise. The Japanese were waiting for them.
“Captain Ebdon?”
“Sir?”
“Find out why Barnard isn’t advancing. At the moment ‘A’ Company are taking a lot of punishment. ‘B’ Company to drag their arses into battle this instant.” He didn’t shout the order, but managed to convey enough menace to send the normally cool Ebdon scrambling into the valley with haste.
“C’mon you stupid bastard,” Belsay muttered to himself. Something had gone terribly wrong; Barnard’s men should have advancing far to the right, and Belsay had been tempted to use the low ground on the right flank to effect a sweeping hooking manouevre to deny the Japanese the opportunity to easily retire into the city. But Barnard was apparently declining to march and Belsay was already exasperated.
After an age either Ebdon had roused Major Barnard or Barnard had roused himself: ‘B’ Company were finally moving forward. But precious time had been lost and Lumsden’s men were being terribly worn down. Time was now a critical factor as the sun began to peek over the Eastern rim of the valley. As light began to flood over the battlefield Belsay, who had decided to lead Major Gledhill and his men to Major Barnard (Belsay no longer trusted anyone on the right flank), could see how exposed they all were. In the distance, a small of clump of trees and the tiny outline of the farm settlement showed that with luck, Gledhill could take the position.
“I can’t see any Japs, Sir,” Gledhill, a rather glib officer, said to Belsay as they both strode down to Barnard’s position. At this point the two senior officers could wander with impunity: Barnard’s men had overpowered a thin of Japanese defenders and were driving hard towards the scattered strongpoints that lined the road to the farm. Belsay checked that his pistol was loaded.
One of the brighter young Corporals, this one a whip-thin former Hartlepool labourer named Macmain, sprinted down from Lumsden’s position.
“Sir, from Major Lumsden: it’s bad Sir. We’ve lost thirteen men.”
“Ammunition?”
“None for the mortars Sir, and we’ve given up with the Anti-tank guns.”
“What is Major Lumsden wanting to do?”
“He wants your permission to rush a Jap trench Sir. It’ll mean a few of the lads getting potted but it will give us something to hang on to.”
Belsay still had a fair number of his men uncommitted. Most of these had taken part in guard and patrol duties during the night. After sending Macmain on his way Belsay handed Gledhill and his men over to Barnard and, gathering some a platoon of reserves, headed to the left flank. The rear of Lumsden’s position was chaos; Lumsden, an inspirational, confident commander, was nevertheless utterly disorganised and his ammunition stocks were mixed with disgarded food tins and the moaning wounded. After tasking the adjutant, Captain Surtees, with sorting it out, Belsay led the platoon, commanded by Lieutenant Carr, to a thin tree where Lumsden squatted to avoid being shot.
“They’ve got a Durham bloody poacher up one of those trees, I swear it,” Lumsden said wryly. “I see that you’ve brought men.”
“Carr and his recce platoon were doing nothing but guarding the start line,” Belsay said, firing his pistol wildly into a cluster of trees. The noise from the small arms fire was deafening. “What do you want to do with them? I need you to keep the pressure up here; Gledhill will only be starting his attack now.”
“Can I suggest we throw them in as one?”
“Agreed, I never like penny packets anyway.”
As Lumsden’s men dealt with the snipers in the trees, Carr led his men straight for the enemy lines. Belsay watched as they ran screaming into the trenches, the Japanese putting up a good fight before being systematcially defeated by the Durham men.
“Ah,” Lumsden said sadly. “Counterattack. ‘A’ Company, forward!”
The survivors of A company abandoned all military sense and ran to Carr’s rescue. Lumsden, singing a bawdy hunting song, was at the front of the attack and dissappeared into the recently captured trench. The line consolidated, Carr and his men rescued, Belsay turned to walk back to Barnard’s position. It was then Sergeant Hudson walked very formally up to him.
“Sir?”
“Yes Sergeant,” there was something in Hudson’s voice that didn’t bode well.
“It’s Mr Lumsden Sir. He’s hit bad.”
With a sinking heart Belsay wandered back to the blasted cluster of trees that caused such misery for ‘A’ Company. There, blood flowing freely from a pathetically small wound to the chest, was a pale Valentine Havelock Lumsden. He was already dead.
Belsay knew that every pair of eye in a distraught company were on him. “Fetch Captain Ebdon up here. He’s in command up here, the Adjutant can come and help him. Just hold the trench, lads, that’s what ‘he’ would have expected.”
As he trudged away to the right of the DLI’s battlefield, Belsay knew that things were changing. Lumsden gone, Belsay himself to be promoted out of the command that, despite its occasional infuriations, he had adored; he knew that this would be his last battle as a battalion CO.
Gledhill and his men had done well; the settlement was taken and the Japanese were withdrawing. The road to Zhanjiang was open. Belsay looked at his notebook: it was 8th June. General Brooke was due to arrive with the HQ of Fourth Army.
[Game Effect] - I know, I know, more battalion-level battles.
The point is this – in game terms Zhangjiang was already mine but given that it contains a number of cities and is a fairly large area I wanted to show the British inching their way inland from their initial Longbow gains.
10 DLI feature again and I wanted to portray an infantry battle along ‘Goose Green’ lines – the tactics are based loosely on ‘H’ Jones’ though I killed the 2IC off not the CO.
There’s not much else to add. Brooke has arrived and the Army is ready to get on with the job of actually making an impact in this war. Tokyo is still a long way off...
Kurt_Steiner: I think it’s become an obsession due to the fanfare that was draped over Longbow. The British not only want to capture, but they have to be seen to be capturing it.
DonnieBaseball: Brooke was a consumate professional and will probably do well; I actually think that he and Alex compliment each other quite well. Brooke could be brusque at times (although he was nowhere as difficult as Monty) wheras Alex will soothe ruffled feathers.
Zhuge Liang: They’re optimistic, if nothing else!
Nathan Madien: Thanks for your help...
Enewald: There is a real sense of political meddling here, and hopefully Brooke can manage it.
El Pip: Agreed, sadly. I think a lot of the blame has to be laid at Eden’s door: he couldn’t resist the opportunity to meddle.
Nathan Madien: I think in Halifax's case it's just sheer terror at not being in control
Sir Humphrey: The prejudice against the Aussies largely springs from the fact that this generation of British officers probably haven’t fought with them since WW1 – and some not even then. Take comfort from the fact that Brooke is as worried about the British troops!