Shanghai 1937: Stalingrad on the Yangtze (28 page)

Chinese refugees are loaded onto boats, assisted by members of the Red Swastika, the local equivalent of the Red Cross, picking as its emblem an ancient Buddhist symbol, which also happened to be favored by the Nazis. The Red Swastika proved of great service, for example in rescue efforts after bombings of civilian areas in Shanghai.
From the American Geographical Society Library, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee Libraries

Foreign military forces load refugees from the war zone onto a truck. The fighting created a massive refugee problem which was only resolved in November, with the establishment of a special safety zone.
From the American Geographical Society Library, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee Libraries

Western soldier carries a Chinese child through gate to safety in International Settlement.
From the American Geographical Society Library, University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee Libraries

“W
E’RE BEING SHOT AT BY OUR OWN,” WAS
O
GISHIMA
S
HIZUO’S FIRST
thought when he heard the sound of rifles from the rear and saw bullets hit to the left and right of his position. It was before dawn on the south bank of Wusong Creek, and Ogishima, a 27-year-old reservist in the Japanese Army’s 101st Division, had just been through his first night at the front. Soldiers around him in the trench got up, some from an uneasy slumber, shouting at the top of their lungs and waving their hands to make the firing stop, but it didn’t. Someone near Ogishima held up the flag of the Rising Sun. That actually seemed to attract the bullets.
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Ogishima ventured a quick look over the edge of the trench. It was still dark and difficult to distinguish much of what was going on, but he thought he caught a quick glimpse of a helmet in a foxhole close to the edge of the creek. It was not a Japanese helment. It then occurred to him that the gunfire was not in error. “It’s the enemy! The enemy!” he shouted. Other started yelling too. “The enemy! They’re behind us! Turn around!” Under the cover of darkness, a Chinese unit had managed to sneak around the Japanese lines to attack them from behind. Aggressive shooting started. A Japanese heavy machine gun also chimed in. However, most bullets were fired at random into the darkness.

As it grew lighter, it was easier to get an idea about the size of the Chi
nese unit. It turned out that the intruders comprised a force of about 50 soldiers. The Japanese officers gave the orders to storm their positions. The infantrymen leapt over the edge of their trench, conditioned through years of drills to obey any command, even if it meant imminent death. Ogishima was not among the ones picked for the assault, but watched it with apprehension from his trench. The Chinese waited until the Japanese soldiers were just yards away and then let loose a ferocious barrage of fire. The first row of Japanese soldiers was mowed down.

Undeterred, the officers ordered a new attack. This time Ogishima was in it. Yelling like madmen, they stormed across the open land towards the Chinese position, lobbing hand grenades once they were close enough. They jumped into the foxholes occupied by the Chinese, and a fierce hand-to-hand struggle followed. Ogishima thrust his bayonet into the belly of a Chinese soldier. It was his first kill. He felt no emotion, only slight curiosity over the fact that the stab wound forced the other man to kneel down.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. The Chinese had been on a suicide mission. Not a single one of them survived. However, the battle had also been costly for the Japanese. Ogishima looked around. Familiar faces were everywhere among the dead. They were faces that only half an hour earlier had been full of life. Now they were set in the expressions they had when they died. One corpse was still clutching his combat knife. With the danger over, medics came running up, and quietly talked to each other in horror about the terrible carnage they were witnessing.

It was the morning of October 7 and Ogishima found it hard to believe that it was little more than a month since he had received his mobilization orders, two weeks since he had arrived in China, and just a day since he had first tasted battle. The 101st Division had crossed Wusong Creek from the north in the early hours of October 6—or more precisely, half of the division had made the crossing. The other half remained on the other side, unable to get their boats past the 300 feet of water guarded by invisible Chinese machine guns and mortar crews who would open fire at the smallest sign of movement on the north bank. Dozens of corpses were floating in the brown water as a testimony to the slaughter of the past 24 hours.

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Ogishima, like tens of thousands of other soldiers on both sides, was enter
ing the most grueling part of the Shanghai campaign. Ahead lay weeks of combat that would rival the battlefields of the Great War in their pointless waste of human life. Twenty years after the carnage of the Western Front, tactics and technology still remained heavily in favor of defensive strategies. Both sides had armor at Shanghai, but neither had the quantity or quality of tanks to allow them to be deployed in a way that could bring about a breakthrough in the way armor would a few years later in Europe. It could be seen as ironic that the bloody melee that would ensue south of Wusong Creek was caused by Matsui Iwane’s vision for a quick end to the battle of Shanghai. On the other hand, even with the benefit of hindsight, it is difficult to see how he could have done anything differently.

Matsui outlined his plans in an order issued on September 29. The attack was to be carried out by, from west to east, the 9th, 3rd and 101st Infantry Divisions. The 1 ith Infantry Division was to follow behind the 9th Division and secure the right flank against Chinese counterattacks from the west. The 13th Infantry Division formed the reserve. The attack force was to take Dachang, an old town surrounded by a medieval-looking wall, and then move on as fast as possible to cut through the Chinese lines north of Suzhou Creek.
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Matsui had prepared an unusual concentration of manpower. The three divisions were lined up on a front that measured just three miles across, meaning each division was given less than half the length of frontline that the Japanese field manual prescribed.
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The decision to squeeze the divisions into a narrow front was partly to make up for the weakness in artillery that continued to hamper the Japanese offensive.
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The Japanese attackers faced a formidable and well-prepared foe. After lengthy debates, the Chinese commanders had finally agreed they had no choice but to shorten their front line. The defense of Liuhang, a town on the road from Luodian to Dachang, had become too costly with no chance of eventual victory. Chen Cheng, the commander of the Chinese left wing, had frequently visited Liuhang and knew how hopeless the situation was. He had repeatedly called for the unwinnable fight to be given up and for valuable troops to be moved back to stronger positions. However, his arguments had initially fallen on deaf ears. Chiang Kai-shek was mainly guided by the notion that war was about winning or keeping real estate, and he had insisted on holding on to Liuhang at any price.
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Only after the Chinese front north of Wusong Creek had been pene
trated in several places in late September did Chiang relent, and the commanders made hasty preparations to pull back the forces in order to preserve their strength and ensure their ability to wage a long-term campaign aimed at bleeding the enemy to death. The Chinese started a fighting retreat during the evening of October 1 and had completed the operation by dawn of October 3. It was yet another of the disciplined withdrawals at which the Chinese defenders had become experts.

The new line stretched a little more than a mile west of the road from Luodian to Dachang, offering the Chinese defenders excellent opportunities to harass the Japanese Army with flanking fire for several miles during its advance south.
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At Wusong Creek, the Chinese line bent east and followed the southern bank for several miles. The creek offered the Chinese defenders a devastating advantage. Despite its name, it would be more precise to call it a river. It had a width of up to 300 feet across, and in several places the southern bank was a steep six-foot wall. Anyone managing to scale this obstacle under heavy mortar bombardment would be met at the top by rows of barbed wire and heavy machine gun fire. For an entire mile south of the creek, the Chinese had spent weeks building a dense network of defenses, turning farm buildings into impenetrable fortifications connected by deep trenches. The Chinese had learned a lesson from their Ger-man masters, veterans of Somme and Verdun, and they had learned it well.
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Matsui only had vague notions of the strong enemy forces awaiting his men south of Wusong Creek, and for him the main question was when to launch the crossing. By early October, he felt a compelling sense of momentum. As his troops advanced closer to the creek, assisted by tanks and artillery, the Chinese put up a determined defense as usual, but even so, they retreated from one strongpoint after another. On October 3, Matsui’s soldiers took Liuhang and managed to hold on to their prize, even though the Chinese immediately launched counterattacks in a bid to take back the town.
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Japanese reconnaissance flights behind enemy lines revealed significant troop movements, leading Matsui to suspect that a general withdrawal was under way. “Along the entire front, signs are emerging that the enemy is wavering,” he wrote in his diary.
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The following day, October 4, also went smoothly for the Japanese
attackers. Even the middle-aged reservists in the 101st Division were able to beat an enemy force and take 300 prisoners. Matsui felt the time was right for a decisive blow. The only slight reason for doubt was the weather. It had changed from bright sunshine the day before to a somber dark sky and it was only a question of time before it would start raining. This was bad news for Matsui’s soldiers, dressed in thin summer uniforms. Even so, he made up his mind. He issued his order for the 9th, 3rd and 101st Divisions to implement the planned crossing of Wusong Creek and move to a line about half a mile south of the creek.
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Beginning on October 5, the three Japanese divisions attempted crossings at several points along Wusong Creek. They managed to carve out a narrow bridgehead on the south bank, but all along the front they were met with staunch resistance. The Chinese commanders were fully aware that everything must be done to prevent a Japanese breakthrough as after Wusong Creek, the only major remaining natural obstacle to a Japanese offensive cutting off all of Shanghai was Suzhou Creek.

Two miles west of the strategic road from Luodian to Dachang, battalion commander Yan Yinggao of the Chinese Army’s 78th Division’s 467th Regiment was waiting in tense anticipation for the Japanese attack. The regiment had set up positions in three fortified villages facing the creek. In their sturdiness, they were similar to dozens of other strongholds prepared by the Chinese in the the preceding weeks. The buildings had been reinforced with sandbags and barbed wire, trees had been cut down to ensure clear fields of fire, and deep trenches enabled troops to quickly and securely move from one sector to the other. The regiment’s 1st Battalion had occupied the westernmost village, while the 3rd Battalion held the two others. Yan Yinggao’s 2nd Battalion was kept in reserve.

The first Japanese attack was preceded by a ferocious artillery barrage. The Japanese infantry that followed shortly afterwards took heavy casualties at all three villages and had to withdraw. They returned in the afternoon, and this time the preparatory artillery fire was even more intense. The 1st Battalion took a series of hits that killed a large number of men, including the commander. The unit disintegrated, and it yielded the village to the Japanese. Yan Yinggao, who had watched the struggle from the rear, sent a company as reinforcement, but it was completely wiped out within less than ten minutes.

At the same time, the eastern village has also fallen into Japanese hands, leaving the 3rd Battalion in the central village, Tangbeizhai, nearly surrounded. At this point, Yan received orders from the regiment to move up with his troops and relieve the beleaguered battalion. As he marched towards Tangbeizhai, he noticed a Japanese column of about 50 or 60 soldiers approaching his destination from the opposite direction. Suddenly, a series of shots were fired from the smoking rubble of the bombed-out village. The Japanese column panicked, dispersed and withdrew to the rear. One of the few surviving 3rd Battalion soldiers in Tangbeizhai had decided to make a last stand. He had expected to be overrun by the attacking Japanese, but in the end succeeded in holding the village just long enough for the 2nd Battalion to arrive and take over the defense.
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It was a small triumph, but a temporary one. Like numerous other strongholds in the war-torn landscape south of Wusong Creek, Tangbeizhai would eventually be crushed by the Japanese juggernaut.