Air Battle for Burma: Allied Pilots' Fight for Supremacy

By Bryn Evans

After a long series of crushing defeats by the apparently unstoppable Japanese air and ground forces, the eventual fight back and victory in Burma was achieved as a result of the exercise of unprecedented combined services cooperation and operations. Crucial to this was the Allies supremacy in the air coupled with their ground/air support strategy.Using veterans firsthand accounts, Air Battle For Burma reveals the decisive nature of Allied air power in inflicting the first major defeat on the Japanese Army in the Second World War. Newly equipped Spitfire fighter squadrons made the crucial difference at the turning point battles of the Admin Box, Imphal and Kohima in 1944. Air superiority allowed Allied air forces to deploy and supply Allied ground troops on the front line and raids deep into enemy territory with relative impunity; revolutionary tactics never before attempted on such a scale.By covering both the strategic and tactical angles, through these previously unpublished personal accounts, this fine book is a fitting and overdue tribute to Allied air forces contribution to victory in Burma.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781473858947

Bryn Evans

Bryn Evans is a management consultant with many years’ experience of finance and IT at boardroom level. He writes extensively across a wide range of categories, be it business management, travel, military history or fiction and his work has been widely published. His fiction work has earned him Second Prize in the Catherine Cookson Short Story Competition and other awards. He is the author of' With the East Surreys in Tunisia, Sicily and Italy 1942-45' and 'The Decisive Campaigns of the Desert Air Force', both in print with Pen and Sword. He lives with his wife, Jean, in Sydney, Australia.

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Prologue

Three Fighter Pilots – A Common Destiny

Around 05.00 hours on 14 May 1940 over northern France, a twin-engined Dornier aircraft of the Luftwaffe cruised closer to the Allies’ front lines. Germany had launched its Blitzkrieg offensive on 10 May against France, Belgium and Holland. By 14 May the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) with the Belgian and French armies were strung out defending a line from Antwerp, through Louvain along the river Dijle to Wavre and thence to Namur.¹ In the early morning light the Dornier’s pilot, Oberleutnant Kopetsch, his observer and gunner, of the Luftwaffe’s 3rd Staffel of Aufklárer 11, were concentrating on the photographic tasks of their reconnaissance patrol.²

About 3,000 feet below the Dornier, Pilot Officer Frank Carey, in his Hawker Hurricane fighter of No. 3 Squadron RAF, made a friendly wave to the pilot of a Lysander artillery spotter aircraft before pulling away into a climbing turn. As the Hurricane’s nose inclined upwards Carey caught sight of the Dornier above him. He thought the lone German intruder to be too good to be true.

So I stalked it carefully from underneath, checking very warily for enemy fighters as it looked such perfect bait. All this time I was steadily climbing up to it, and finally as I was getting close enough to get into a firing position, it suddenly turned around.³

However, to Carey’s disbelief, it appeared the Dornier’s crew had not seen him as it then flew in the opposite direction, probably on a pre-ordained course for its reconnaissance mission. Being able to wait no longer he attacked from astern and underneath the Dornier, and at less than 100 yards distance opened fire.

The effect of my burst of fire was electric, because this large twinengined aircraft did practically a perfect half-roll. It was an extraordinary thing to do. They were very fast – a lot faster than a Hurricane in a dive – so I followed it down, almost vertically. I imagine the pilot had been hit, but before it crashed, the rear gunner fired back and hit me well and truly.⁴

Carey was shocked, and his Hurricane was on fire. Smoke streamed back from the engine, which was showing no oil pressure. He pulled the aircraft up into a near vertical stall before levelling out. He caught a glimpse of the Dornier going straight down into the ground. There was no time to look again. That fate might soon be his.

I had been hit just below the knee by a bullet that subsequently passed between my legs and into the parachute pack. Nevertheless I decided I must bale out, so reduced speed and unhooked myself. I slid back the hood and stood up, but was hit by a 100mph slipstream and thrown back, my parachute pack getting caught in the hood.⁵

By now the aircraft was into a steep dive. Besides the possibility of the parachute being damaged, Carey was struggling with his wounded leg to get out of the cockpit. With the Hurricane’s dive becoming near vertical, he somehow got back into his seat. Luckily the fire went out and he managed to flatten out the rushing descent. Despite forgetting to lower his wheels in the confusion, good fortune smiled again as Carey spied a large flat field. He put down in a crash landing, bumping along on the aircraft’s belly before coming to a stop. Carey imagined that he had crash landed in some kind of ‘no man’s land’.⁶

After a look at the bullet holes in his aircraft he tied up his wounded leg with a handkerchief. Carey then hobbled for about half a mile before he was seen by some figures on the horizon. Were they German troops or perhaps Nazi sympathizers? Fortunately it turned out that they were Belgian troops, who took him on their motorcycles to a village near Brussels. There he received medical treatment for his knee from a BEF casualty unit, before travelling south by train and then motor ambulance to the port of St Nazaire.

It was there that he and three other RAF survivors heard of an abandoned British aircraft at a nearby airfield. By now it was 5 June, the BEF’s defeat and evacuation from Dunkirk was over, and those remaining British troops isolated in France had retreated south-westward toward ports such as Cherbourg and St Nazaire. All were looking desperately for ships or boats of any kind to get back to Britain.

Carey and his three fellow airmen were also determined to find a way back to Britain and avoid capture by the Germans. Following up on a report about an abandoned aircraft, they travelled out to a nearby airfield. When they arrived, and got their first sight of the abandoned aircraft, Carey and the other airmen were in some disbelief. They were gazing at a Bristol Bombay transport plane which was painted a bright yellow.

We gave it the once over – kicked the tyres and so on – and it seemed intact. ‘Borrowing’ some aviation fuel from the French contingent based at the airfield, we checked the engines thoroughly, and the next morning took off for England.⁷

Because of Carey’s fighter pilot experience in firing at Luftwaffe aircraft, the other three voted for him to handle the Bombay’s rear machine gun.

The four of us were feeling very conspicuous in this bright yellow twinengined machine, which appeared to have only a top speed of 120mph. Cutting across the French coast around le Havre, we headed for England . . . I was trying to find out not only how to fire the machine gun, but how to load it!⁸

The Bristol Bombay was an ex-troop-carrier or bomber-transport, now outdated, with a fixed undercarriage. In a lumbering transport aircraft, its yellow hue highly visible, they were a sitting duck for any roving enemy fighters. Just when they were nearing the English coast, they saw some aircraft silhouettes, which were growing rapidly larger. Fortunately, Carey held his fire, for they were a flight of RAF fighters. Suspicious of this strangely coloured aircraft, they came alongside the Bombay for a good look.

Luckily the RAF fighter pilots must have dismissed a yellow transport aircraft as not a threat, and flew off. Eventually the Bombay landed at RAF Hendon, where Carey learned that, in the week following his forced landing, No. 3 Squadron had been nearly wiped out. Multiple losses of aircraft and pilots led to them being pulled out of France on 20 May. Also while Carey made his circuitous journey out of France, on 31 May he was one of seven No. 3 Squadron pilots to be decorated. Squadron Leader W.M. Churchill was awarded the DSO and DFC, Flight Lieutenant M.M. Stephens and Pilot Officer F.R. Carey each receiving the DFC and Bar, two other pilots the DFC, and two more the DFM and Bar. The exceptional citation for Carey recorded that while in France he had shot down at least nine enemy aircraft.⁹

Frank ‘Chota’ Carey was born in May 1912 in Brixton, South London. After first serving in the RAF as a metal rigger and a fitter, he was accepted for pilot training in 1935 and, upon successful completion, was posted in September 1936 as a sergeant pilot of a Hurricane Mk 1 to No. 43 Squadron RAF at Tangmere. Following the outbreak of war in September 1939 Carey moved with 43 Squadron to Acklington to fly Hurricane patrols over the North Sea. There, in January and February 1940, he shared in the shooting down of three Luftwaffe Heinkel He111 bombers, which were raiding shipping. It brought him the award of the DFM on 21 February, and a distinguished RAF career was under way.

In April 1940 Carey was commissioned and posted to No. 3 Squadron in France. As the German Blitzkrieg poured into Holland, Belgium and France on 10 May, Carey shot down four He111s, three of which were confirmed. Then, on 14 May, he was on the receiving end, which led to his subsequent lucky escape in the bright yellow Bombay transport aircraft.

During the Battle of Britain in the summer of 1940 Carey notched up further victories and survived being shot down and wounded again. In August 1941 he was promoted to Squadron Leader of No. 135 Squadron RAF which, in November 1941, embarked for the Middle East. In December, while en route and after the Japanese attacks on Pearl Harbor and Malaya, Carey and No. 135 Squadron were redirected to India Command to be based at Rangoon, Burma.¹⁰

*    *    *

In August 1940 Australian Flying Officer Noel Constantine wrote to his mother, describing the hardships and difficulties in the life of a fighter pilot in Britain. The constant vigilance at readiness was exhausting, week after week, month after month, alarm after alarm, two to three minutes to get into the air – land, refuel, re-arm, off again. And always there was the yearning for a chance to sleep.

Whilst stationed with No. 141 Squadron RAF at Folkestone in Kent Constantine found that his fighter patrols over the English Channel gripped him heart, body and soul. It seemed to him that there was no outside world, just dozens of whirling aircraft – and it was you or the other fellow.

On beautiful cloudless days, watching from the ground we could see the French coast quite plainly. Through field-glasses we could see a multitude of black dots swirl off the ground high into the sky. A convoy lazing its way through the channel in all serenity, then it would come – columns of water shooting skyward obliterating the ships. One after another the Junkers would come hurtling down. Then the muffled sound of AA, and suddenly fifty or more hostile aircraft would appear over our own aerodrome – the battle is on!¹¹

On one occasion Constantine was in an organized attack, of thirty-six RAF aircraft, Spitfires, Hurricanes and Defiants, against as many as an estimated 150 Luftwaffe bombers and fighter escorts.

Aircraft are milling, writhing, circling, then one colossal dogfight. It is one complete mix-up, a mêlée, actors in a giant firework display. Far below, several aircraft are disappearing towards earth leaving long trails of smoke and flame. Fighter versus fighter. German bombers still carrying on unloading their cargoes. Every now and then a Hurricane, Spitfire or Defiant would break away and get a head-on with a bomber – finis! Far below several parachutes are mushrooming, and leisurely following the burning machines. Five minutes and it’s all over. My God, one lives a lifetime in those few minutes.¹²

Following a few weeks at Folkestone, on operations protecting shipping convoys, Constantine returned with his squadron of Boulton Paul Defiants to their home station at Grangemouth, Scotland. The Boulton Paul Defiant was a two-seat fighter, which entered service in the RAF in 1939, with its sole armament four .303-inch machine guns in a powered turret behind the pilot. After some initial success, it proved inferior to the more agile tactics of conventional fighters of the Luftwaffe. Despite its greater weight than the German fighters, its top speed of 304mph helped the Defiant to be more effective for a period as a night-fighter, as well as in protection patrols for shipping.

The month of August in 1940 was the height of the Battle of Britain. Yet while the Spitfires and Hurricanes fought to halt the Luftwaffe’s attempt to win the air war over Britain’s cities, squadrons such as No. 141 continued the unceasing struggle to protect shipping at sea. This was a struggle just as crucial and one that would continue until the end of the war. In a letter of 28 August 1940 to his mother, Constantine writes from RAF Montrose in Scotland, saying that there is nothing else to speak of except war.

It absorbs all our waking and sleeping hours. We’re at ‘readiness’ night and day, which means that we have to be in the air within three minutes – that involves sleeping in flying clothing by our aircraft. On busy days it is one patrol after another, only on the ground to re-arm and refuel and off again. The ground crews are marvellous, doing quick repairs, refuelling and rearming – models of speed and efficiency.

We had held together pretty well for eight months, then one day we were utterly surprised over the French coast by a mass of German fighters. They came out of the sun . . . when we headed for home, poor old Gardiner never got there. His engine was streaming oil and petrol, he just suddenly dived into the sea. As we reached the coast, Donald’s aircraft blew up. He and his air-gunner were burnt to death. Johnny London crashed 100 yards from the aerodrome, just couldn’t quite make it.

We lost six of our boys and their six gunners, three were New Zealanders and one Canadian. The CO, Tamblyn and myself alone got back. That rather finished us for the day, though we did have the satisfaction of seeing a few of their fighters slide away in flames too. That evening I went to London and went to several night clubs, and got thoroughly smashed.

Tonight here in Montrose is a bad one. Cloud right down to the ground, and though we can hear at this moment many German bombers high above the clouds, we are not risking going off in this weather, as we could never find them, and they can’t see anything either in this visibility. The rest of the boys have taken advantage of the break and gone to bed . . . me too very shortly.

We miss the chaps very much . . . I wonder how it will all end. I have been miraculously fortunate so far, but have certain misgivings that it will not always be so. How can one expect a continued existence? If one survives four or five of those violent engagements, you are a veteran in your own squadron. I honestly don’t fear my fate, mainly because I don’t contemplate it much, and one becomes so used to seeing one’s pals disappear one by one. It’s as though they are just transferred to another unit. I can’t imagine them dead, say, as Mack our father is dead. It’s different somehow. Perhaps it is because each one of us has had such ample warning that death is no surprise. And I would not change my life.¹³

Noel Constantine was born in 1914 in Moama, New South Wales, and later lived with his widowed mother in Phillip Island, Victoria. After studying pharmacy at Melbourne University, in 1937 he travelled to London and in 1938 joined the RAF on a short service commission.

Throughout the Battle of Britain in the summer of 1940 and the following winter Constantine served with No. 141 Squadron until 28 April 1941 when he was posted to No. 23 Squadron RAF at Ford, where he flew Defiants on night intruder sorties until June, when he took up instructing duties at 60 OTU at East Fortune. From 6 October 1941 Constantine had consecutive monthly spells with three different RAF Squadrons, No. 264 Squadron at West Malling, No. 125 at Fairwood Common, and No. 87 at Colerne. The end of the year brought news of his posting to India Command, and promotion to squadron leader in command of No. 273 Squadron RAF flying Hurricanes at the China Bay RAF base in Ceylon.¹⁴

*    *    *

At Biggin Hill in Kent, England, in September 1941 New Zealander Pilot Officer Gerry Smith¹⁵ experienced his first combat operations, flying a Spitfire Mk V with No. 609 Squadron RAF. The brutal realities of a front-line fighter squadron were quickly encountered. Typical of the not infrequent non-operational casualties, a Polish pilot with the squadron was killed in a forced landing after a training flight. On 27 October Flying Officer Ortmans was lost to anti-aircraft fire on a patrol sweep near Boulogne.

On that same day Smith himself, while flying as ‘tail end Charlie’ in a flight of twelve Spitfires, was hit by fire from one of the Luftwaffe’s new Focke-Wulf Fw190 fighters. Although he got in a few shots at the enemy aircraft before his guns failed, the Spitfire dropped, spinning out of control, and Smith found he had no flaps, brakes or guns. Luckily the Fw190 pilot must have thought he was spiralling to destruction. Smith found he could still operate the ailerons, and somehow regained control to bring the aircraft back onto level flight.

He headed for home and managed a forced landing at an airfield at West Malling and, without any brakes or control, came to halt just in time to avoid disaster. At only nineteen years old Smith was enduring the typical steep learning curve of a new pilot, fresh to operations and combat with enemy aircraft. Young and immature, he was living on his nerves. Nevertheless, he was soon on a train back to Biggin Hill and next day was flying again in another Spitfire.

Gerry W. Smith was born in New Zealand in 1921 and, after enlisting in the RNZAF on his eighteenth birthday in October 1939, was called up in November 1940. In New Zealand Smith did his early training on Tiger Moth aircraft. Then, under the Empire Training Scheme, in March 1941 he sailed to Canada where he undertook flying training on Harvard trainers. After further officer and flying training in the UK, Pilot Officer Smith joined No. 74 Squadron RAF at Acklington in July 1941 for Spitfire flying training, and subsequently, in September 1941, was posted to No. 609 Squadron at Biggin Hill.

In another patrol across the English Channel Smith’s flight was jumped by Bf109s. The first thing he knew about the danger, was when he heard his squadron leader screaming to him on the radio, ‘Weave, Smithy! Weave!’ Once again he managed to evade the enemy fighters. In crossing to and from operations over Holland and France, the English Channel and North Sea would often look cold, grey and miserable. If he was flying in missions early or late in the day, with little or no sun, he found it could easily bring on feelings of loneliness and disorientation.

In early 1942, after volunteering to transfer to the war in the Far East, Smith received a posting to Ceylon, and embarked at Greenock on the Clyde near Glasgow. The convoy to Takoradi on the west coast of Africa was shadowed all the way by German flying boats, which resulted in three ships being lost to torpedo attacks by U-boats. At Takoradi Smith was given two days’ training in a Hurricane fighter, before he set off to fly the aircraft overland on the trans-Africa route to Port Sudan on the Red Sea. For navigation Smith had to rely mostly on following visible rail lines and rivers.

From Port Sudan Smith and other pilots embarked on the aircraft carrier HMS Indomitable, with their Hurricane fighters to cross the Indian Ocean to Colombo in Ceylon. As HMS Indomitable neared Colombo, Smith and his fellow Hurricane pilots faced a fresh and daunting task. They were briefed that, on the very next day 7 March 1942, they would have to make their first ever take-off from the deck of an aircraft carrier at sea. There had been no opportunity for simulation training on a normal airfield runway, on how to make a full power, rapid and steep take-off with the limited deck length of a carrier. And there was of course no opportunity to practise how to land back on the carrier’s deck.

The next day, luckily, Smith was not the first to go and watched a number of his fellow pilots successfully take off. Once in the cockpit, and strapped in, he saw the flight deck officer give the start-up signal. Now it was up to him. As he pressed the starter button, the Hurricane’s engine fired first time. Waiting for it to warm up, he checked the gauges once again. Indomitable was sailing at top speed of around 30 knots, into a stiff wind of perhaps around 30 to 35 knots. He was to give the Hurricane full throttle, the idea being to gain the equivalent of the normal take-off speed of a Hurricane of around 90mph. Then the deck officer gave him a green flag, a thumbs-up, and started to rotate his flag. Smith began to open the throttle.

It was the critical moment. Any mistake and he and the aircraft would go over Indomitable’s blunt bow, into the sea, and the carrier over the top of them. The deck officer’s flag rotated faster. Smith opened the throttle to full power, 3,000 revs, the Hurricane straining against the brakes, before he released them. The aircraft rolled forward and quickly accelerated. He held it straight as it surged forward down the middle of the deck. Then over the carrier’s bow and into the air, it dropped a little towards those so close waves. The crests seemed to leap at the Hurricane. Smith pulled up the undercarriage and the aircraft began to climb. Just a few seconds and he had full control.

One of the other pilots, on becoming airborne, found he had a glycol leak, yet still managed to circle around and land safely back on the carrier. Remarkably Smith and the other flyers all accomplished their take-offs without mishap. After refuelling at the Colombo air base they then flew on to join No. 261 Squadron RAF at their China Bay base at Trincomalee on the east coast of Ceylon.¹⁶

*    *    *

Carey, Constantine and Smith were three young men, like so many others from the Allied nations, engaged in the wild, ‘life or death’ struggles of a fighter pilot in the Second World War. They had each come to this unforgiving, gladiatorial fight in different ways and at divergent ages. Frank Carey was fifteen when he joined the RAF as an apprentice. Noel Constantine left his pharmacy studies to come to Britain, and at age twenty-four in 1938 joined the RAF. Gerry Smith enlisted in the RNZAF on his eighteenth birthday in 1939, after war had been declared the previous month.

So far the three of them had been lucky, surviving one or more of being hit by enemy fire, ditching in the sea, forced or crash landings, wounding or being shot down. These were the typical risks and fates of a fighter pilot. Now they were being sent against an enemy who was implacable, fanatical and ruthlessly efficient – Japan. In their devastating offensives across the Pacific and the Far East, Japan’s spearhead was its dominant, merciless and lethal air power. And at that time the Imperial Japanese Army Air Force (JAAF) and the Imperial Japanese Naval Air Force (JNAF) possessed fast, high performance and highly manoeuvrable fighter aircraft which in many ways were superior to Allied fighters. In addition, and most important, Japanese pilots were experienced, battle-hardened, super confident and possessed of a ferocious warrior mentality. Carey, Constantine and Smith, and the many other Allied pilots posted to the Far East, were about to face the ultimate test.

Notes

1. Jackson, Dunkirk , p. 14.

2. Franks, Frank ‘Chota’ Carey , pp. 50–5; NA Kew, AIR27/32/18 ORB, No. 3 Squadron RAF.

3. Veteran’s account, P/O Carey; Franks, op. cit., p. 51.

4. Veteran’s account, P/O Carey, op. cit.; Franks, op. cit., p. 51.

5. Franks, op. cit., p. 51.

6. Veteran’s account, P/O Carey, op. cit.; Franks, op. cit., p. 55.

7. Veteran’s account, P/O Carey, op. cit.; Franks, op. cit., pp. 55–6.

8. Veteran’s account, P/O Carey, op. cit.; Franks, op. cit., pp. 55–6.

9. Shores, Aces High , pp. 165–7.

10. Veteran’s account, F/O Constantine.

11. Ibid.

12. Ibid.

13. Ibid.

14. Shores, op. cit., p. 189; Veteran’s account, F/O Constantine, op. cit.

15. Veteran’s account, P/O Smith.

16. Ibid.

Chapter 1

Japanese Air Power Strikes Across Half the Globe

Late in the morning of 10 December 1941 from an altitude of 8,000 feet, nine torpedo-bombers of the Imperial Japanese Navy’s Genzan Air Corps began their attack run. The twin-engined Mitsubishi G3M aircraft, known by the Allies as ‘Nells’, were part of Rear Admiral Sadaichi Matsunaga’s 22nd Air Flotilla based at Saigon. The target was Britain’s most modern battleship, HMS Prince of Wales, nearly 44,000 tons, commissioned in January 1941, and at that time one of the largest ships in the world. The Nell was a seven-seat medium bomber, with twin radial engines, a top speed of 232mph and a range of 2,722 miles.¹

The Japanese bombers dived through a blizzard of anti-aircraft fire, and for a moment it seemed that no aircraft could survive. That moment passed in an instant, as the aerodynamic torpedo-bombers came on, unstoppable, as if they were flying through melting snow flakes. All nine of the bombers somehow evaded the withering fire from Prince of Wales to launch their torpedoes. One Nell was hit by ship fire after releasing its torpedo, and lost height. Its pilot, Petty Officer Kawada, attempted a suicide dive onto Prince of Wales, before crashing into the sea. Only one of the nine torpedoes released hit home on the port side. Yet, micro-seconds after the explosion, a mountain of water, flame and smoke soared some 200 feet into the air.

Almost simultaneously the great battleship shuddered. Prince of Wales lost half its power, immobilizing half its guns, and cutting its electric light and ventilation. The ship’s speed dropped quickly to only 15 knots, and it began to list to almost 13 degrees. With no steering Prince of Wales signalled to its accompanying battlecruiser, HMS Repulse, that it was no longer under control. It was a mortal blow, and the Japanese pilots could see the battleship was stricken. A second wave of attacks was inevitable. How had it come to this, for the pride of Britain’s Royal Navy to be so quickly immobilized?²

*    *    *

In May 1941 Prince of Wales and Repulse had both been part of the pursuit and sinking of the German battleship Bismarck, which had first been crippled by torpedoes dropped by Swordfish torpedo-bombers, the Fleet Air Arm’s obsolete biplane aircraft. The Swordfish squadron had flown off from the aircraft carrier HMS Ark Royal. One of the torpedo strikes damaged the steering gear, causing Bismarck to remain stuck on a course of 15 degrees to port – effectively sailing in a circle. Only then were the battleships HMS King George V and HMS Rodney able to close in and pound the German battleship until it sank. As the Bismarck disappeared below the waves, those on board the Prince of Wales and Repulse would have observed that not one Swordfish aircraft was lost to enemy anti-aircraft fire.³

Churchill had decided in early November 1941, before Japan’s attack on the USA at Pearl Harbor on 7 December, to deploy Prince of Wales and Repulse to Singapore as a deterrent to the Japanese threat in the Far East. The two capital ships, together with their destroyers and other support ships, were codenamed Force Z, and should have included the new fleet aircraft carrier HMS Indomitable. After commissioning in October 1941 HMS Indomitable sailed on her maiden voyage to the West Indies to work up for operational service. On 3 November Indomitable ran aground during this work-up on a coral reef near Jamaica, which resulted in her entering port in Norfolk, Virginia, for repairs, and postponement of the deployment to Force Z. Even without this accident, there is doubt that Indomitable would have been able to complete her work-up during November and reach Singapore in time to provide air cover for Force Z.⁴

The absence of HMS Indomitable may not have been perceived by Admiral Phillips as too great a loss. At the time there was still a substantial body of opinion in Royal Navy circles which believed that battleships could be protected from aircraft attack by light multi-barrel and heavy high-angle (HA) anti-aircraft guns. Admiral Phillips was known to lean in favour of this view, and gave the appearance of being dismissive of any need for battleships to have air cover by fighter aircraft. He also had limited experience of operational command at sea. When Phillips was appointed as C-in-C of Force Z by Admiral Sir Dudley Pound, and approved by Prime Minister Churchill, the appointment was met with dismay by a number of senior naval staff.⁵

Upon arrival in Singapore on 2 December 1941, however, Admiral Phillips did request air cover to be provided for Force Z by land-based Hurricane fighters, if within range, against Japanese air attack. Unfortunately, there were no Hurricanes at Singapore, only a Royal Australian Air Force squadron of Brewster Buffalo fighters. The Buffalo, with a top speed of only 225 mph and armed only with four machine guns, was much inferior to Japanese fighters. Furthermore, the Australian pilots were new to these planes and had no operational experience.

When it was learned that, early on 8 December, Japanese forces were landing at Kota Bharu on the Malayan east coast, Phillips was not deterred by the lack of air support and protection. To disrupt and prevent the Japanese from establishing a bridgehead, on 8 December at 17.25 hours Force Z departed Singapore. The Japanese air raid on Pearl Harbor in Oahu, Hawaii, on 7 December began at about 07.55 local time, which occurred only an hour or so later than the attack on Malaya (ignoring the distortion of the International Date Line). Phillips may not have known or been fully aware of the surprise Japanese attack, and its impact on the US Navy ships.

On 8 December Singapore also suffered Japanese air raids, planned to coincide with the Pearl Harbor attack and the invasion of Malaya. Certainly the threat of attack on Prince of Wales and Repulse by Japanese aircraft, if considered at all, was not seen as sufficient for Phillips to call for any delay in the departure of Force Z. He planned for the capital ships to sail north all day on 9 December so as to reach and attack the Japanese invasion fleet on the morning of 10 December in the region of Singora on the Malayan east coast.

Around 14.00 hours on 9 December a Japanese submarine, I-65, its hull and conning tower hidden by a rainy and cloudy afternoon, sighted Force Z.⁶ Acting on this report Admiral Matsunaga sent out both reconnaissance aircraft and bombers to attack the British battleships. Admiral Kondo, who was in command of the Japanese invasion force, and in the knowledge of Force Z being in the region, had recently gained additional aircraft now based at Saigon, to provide extra air protection. The aircraft despatched by Matsunaga were unable to locate Force Z during the day but, shortly before sunset, the radar of Prince of Wales detected a Japanese seaplane. It was soon seen from the decks of Prince of Wales and Repulse. Everyone knew what was now inevitable.

With the location and course heading of the two capital ships identified by the Japanese reconnaissance plane, an attack by enemy aircraft would be certain the next day. When Admiral Phillips received a signal from Singapore that Japanese troopships with naval escorts had been sighted off the Malayan coast near Kota Bharu, south of Singora, it made up his mind. At 20.55 on 9 December, recognizing that he had lost the advantage of surprise, Phillips turned around Prince of Wales and Repulse and their accompanying destroyers and headed back towards Singapore. His hope was that the Japanese would not know that Force Z had reversed direction.

However, unbeknown to Phillips and close to midnight, Japanese submarine I-58 observed Force Z and reported the battleships’ new southerly course to Admiral Matsunaga. At 02.30 hours on 10 December the Japanese submarine fired five torpedoes at Prince of Wales and Repulse. All five missed and in the dark no-one in Force Z was aware of the attack. Following a further signal to Force Z from Singapore, reporting that Japanese landings were taking place at Kuantan, at 02.55 on 10 December Phillips altered course again, this time to south-west to strike at the new location. The night though could not cloak their changes of direction much longer. Around 05.00, as the sun rose, the look-outs on Repulse spied a dot just above the eastern horizon. For half-an-hour it stayed there, as if attached to Force Z by some invisible wire, keeping pace. Once again a Japanese reconnaissance aircraft had spotted Force Z.

Captain Tennant of Repulse saw the dot on the horizon through his binoculars and, although unable to identify the type of aircraft, felt near certain that it was a Japanese seaplane. The implication was also clear. As they gazed at that mesmerizing dot floating above