Ron Reynolds’ Account 

Lt. Reynolds was one of three platoon commanders of ‘D’ Company, The Royal Sussex Regiment. The others were Lt. Brewster and Lt. Stanbrook

The Battle for Hill 60 

I suppose most wars have their Hill 60’s. We weren’t really interested in any of the others except this one. After being airlifted into Burma and having marched 40 miles along an area already captured by the Chindits we were bivouacked amongst some sandy rocks. Time was spent checking equipment, cleaning and oiling weapons, ammunition and writing letters. I was a platoon commander. I had to censor the letters. My goodness I didn’t know so many of my soldiers could write and I’d got to know them pretty well by now. Apart from training and route marching in India we had now spent three weeks in Burma together and in this we were very lucky as few troops had an acclimatisation period before being committed to action.

However, it was now our turn. Out of the four Companies in the Battalion, the one to which I belonged was chosen to make the first attack. For most of us it was the first time in action.  On a glorious August Bank Holiday Sunday afternoon in 1944 our four officers and a guide went to reconnoitre.

The West African Chindits were dug in amongst some sparse tree covering within about 800 yards of a small feature known as ‘Hill 60.’ They had been there for six weeks so we were told and during that time the hill had been subjected to aerial bombardment and from Chinese heavy artillery. These were officered by Americans and were to form our artillery support for most of 1944 until our own guns could travel up the then uncompleted Ledo Road. No doubt the West Africans had patrolled and had encountered Japanese patrols and may, or may not have been attacked. They were tired as they had been fighting behind the Japanese for a long time. The whole plan was that our Division would advance down the Railway Corridor whilst the Chindits held the hills on either side and so, as we went through the Chindits would come down behind us and be flown out for a well earned rest or repatriation.

As we threaded our way through the trenches amongst a fine looking body of soldiers I recognised one Scottish officer whom I had not seen since we were at OCTU together in Barmouth some years previously.

We went across this open ground as if the Japanese did not exist, reached the hill, climbed a track to the top and found we were really at one end of a long hill and presumably our guide knew that this wasn’t the end that was defended. The view was extensive and the importance of the feature was at once apparent. It dominated completely the surrounding countryside and the entrance to the valley. It was covered in low scrub. I, for one, didn’t learn much from our recce, but back we went to acquaint the troops with the situation.

The plan was that as late as possible before dusk there would be an air strike and an artillery bombardment and we would then, as a Company secure a position on the same edge as we had seen that afternoon, and then attack during darkness with no support whatsoever, in order to take the Japanese by surprise.

We watched the air strike and bombardment from the West African positions and they were quite impressive. However, as this had been going on for six weeks what good was one more going to be if we weren’t following up close behind?

As dusk fell, fully loaded with all our appurtenances but with only a small pack carrying our essentials, we set off for our initial target and-made it without incident - just like an exercise. Another Company had come up with us to help us dig in. I suppose this was in case we were attacked first because we hadn’t come with the intention of stopping. You can muzzle the sound of equipment clanging and subsequently we found you could stop the harness of mules jingling and even bind up their hooves, but in no way can you deaden the noise of pick and shovel on flint. How anyone within a radius of miles failed to hear we never understood and we were only a few hundred yards from the Japanese. The digging Company having accomplished no more than shallow graves, retired in good order and we wished we were going with them. One of the platoons moved off silently to patrol the enemy positions. After an unconscionable time they returned as far as we know undetected and reported that the Japanese were in good form, laughing and talking, that there were more of them than was thought and that they were well dug in with uprooted trees (from successive bombardments) as overhead cover. It was the Japanese version of the Maginot line without concrete. It was our first experience of the Japanese bunker.

Our signal section had connected us by field telephone to Battalion H.Q. and the wires began to hum.

Company Commander to Battalion Commander - Japs too many and too well dug in for night attack despite dubious advantage of surprise. Request revert to plan B (this was for a dawn attack by another Company after artillery and mortar bombardment.)

Battalion Commander promised to contact Brigadier. Phoned back later to say ‘Go ahead.’ Company Commander advanced further reasons why we should not. Back to Brigadier. ‘Get on that hill tonight!!’

The action was linked with another Battalion’s surprise attack away to our left and whilst both were fraught with danger, if one was postponed the other would have to be too. The other Battalion fared worse than we did in the event as owing to the absolute restriction on noise (bayonets only to be used) they pressed down the road knowing that the Japanese were watching them and led by their Colonel carrying an umbrella. When the Japs did open fire casualties were suffered and the Colonel was missing for several days but eventually turned up with umbrella.

But back to our story. The Company Commander called his 0 (order) Group and decided that we would attack at 2 am (August Bank Holiday Monday) and meantime get some sleep. He must have been joking. It was freezing cold both from the atmosphere and physical fear. The other two platoons would attack, one on the left and one on the right. I was in reserve. All platoons were officer commanded but we were short of a second in command as he had gone sick sometime before. We rested and fidgeted with our equipment. The telephone went wishing us good luck.

It was 2 o’clock. It was dark. It was cold. We were afraid. We were miserable.

With whispers of ‘Good luck’ all round the two attacking platoons moved off with the one which had carried out the patrol leading as they were the only ones who knew where they were going. We all hoped for the best and feared for the worst but in accordance with all good orders instructions for consolidation after a successful mission were included.

For a long time all was silence and the clatter of small arms fire broke the stillness. We were attacking with rifles, Bren guns, Tommy guns (at what stage Sten guns were developed I can’t remember) and grenades. I don’t think we even had phosphorous smoke grenades although these came in very useful in a later action.

The noise of war continued. What was happening? It was agonising to sit back and wait.  Someone was coming back. The attack wasn’t making any progress but the soldiers were standing on the edge of the dug outs tossing grenades in. The firing continued. We sat firm.  What was the Company Commander going to do?

Presumably he obtained permission to withdraw and I was sent forward to cover the withdrawal of the other two platoons. It was getting light by this time and in no time at all the sun was up. My friend the platoon commander who did not take out the patrol had been carried past on a stretcher with a wound in his side. Nothing serious and it wasn’t far to the Casualty Clearing Station. ‘Good luck Bertie.’

Meanwhile there were plenty of fallen tree trunks for cover and over or round which we could fire on the Japanese we could now see. Japanese were always supposed to be little men but these were six footers - must have been their Guards Brigade. We kept up continuous fire but whether we hit anything we shall never know. The wounded from the other two platoons and the addition of wounded stretcher bearers were between us and the Japanese. The stretcher bearers needed help. They had run out of stretchers and were fast running out of bearers. I saw one coming back with a wounded soldier on his back.

One burst from the Japs killed them both. Mean while my platoon was losing more men than the attacking platoons had done. One extra tall lance-corporal had a small gash in his neck. He was dead. We too were ordered to withdraw. Plan B was about to commence.

In went the barrage, Chinese 105 mm and 155 mm, over went another of our Companies who just, apparently strolled over the hill to be faced with the sight of the Japs running away down the other side of the hill.

The rest of the Battalion were streaming behind to consolidate at the foot of the far side. Battalion H.Q. Were on the hill. There was a mule carrying the 22 set in contact with Brigade H.Q. and manned by the Adjutant and the Intelligence Officer, but where were they? Flat on their bellies trying to locate some stray Japs who were firing at them from very close range. Meanwhile the set was chattering away and they subsequently received a right rollicking from the Brigadier for going off the air! The mule took no notice and remained stock still and unperturbed.

We proceeded to the consolidation area. Someone in their wisdom had lined up neatly all the dead some stripped to the waist as they were when recovering the wounded. It didn’t seem a good idea to parade us whose turn it may be tomorrow (or even today - it was still August Bank Holiday Monday), before them. The Jap rifle had a much smaller bore than ours and one of the dead had been shot through the heart. ‘‘What a neat little hole’ I said to no one in particular and that stupid remark, I would like to think, borne of hunger (or anger?), exhaustion, and thirst has remained on my conscience ever since.

We pushed on in single file. The barrage had lifted to catch the fleeing Japs and as the

downward slope came into full view there was the attacking Company well spread out striding towards the foot of the hill. Then the most horrible thing happened. A shell fell short. It was a direct hit on a platoon commander killing him and several others near him.

They were the only casualties the attacking Company suffered. He was a young, quiet, pleasant, good looking family type liked by all

Suddenly we were being fired on from our right rear. We bit the dust trying to make ourselves as small as possible and there were two extremely tall Japanese standing bolt upright on the pimple of the hill firing down on us along the sights of their rifles. The situation was a bit tricky as we had to get rid of them but we had troops all round them but not on the pimple itself. We didn’t want to get into the position where we were firing on our own troops. We appeared to be in the best position to do something about it. The Company Sergeant Major was just behind me so I told him to take a few men round to the rear of them and get them with grenades. Nothing happened. From some muttered imprecations I rather gathered he wasn’t too keen on the job as he had found a few yards of bush behind which to take cover. We were out in the open. I decided to do something myself. I crept into a firing position, took a grenade from my belt and intended lobbing it although to throw it the required 50 yards from a prone position was asking a lot. The pin was stuck. I couldn’t get it out and all the time the Japs kept firing. They ought to be easy targets with a Lee-Enfield. I got my rifle in position, pulled the bolt, it would only come half way and then wouldn’t go either way. It was choked with sand. I couldn’t go forward, back or sideways. Then up jumped the most unlikely looking private soldier you ever saw and standing upright blazed away with a Bren gun firing from the hip and shouting ‘There’s the yellow bastards.’ Why he hadn’t seen them before or where he had been I don’t know. However the Japs didn’t like it and disappeared, probably into their bunker to commit Hara Kin (unless the Bren gunner did in fact hit them.) He was an unlikely looking soldier as he wasn’t the right shape, he was cross eyed and his steel rimmed army issue spectacles were always bent at some uncomplimentary angle. I muttered ‘Thanks’ and we moved off getting a roasting on the way for holding up the column of troops coming along behind. My saviour subsequently was awarded the MM for this and more daring exploits.

Down at the bottom of the hill we halted for a rest. I sat on a rock and buried my head in my hands. I felt sick. Sick with hunger, thirst, exhaustion, nervous exhaustion and the sight of so much blood.

I took my pack off It was torn at the base and at one corner. Unbeknown to me a bullet had shot the heel off my spare pair of socks, the handle off my half mess tin and pierced the ‘T’ junction of my razor and gone through the centre of my spare razor blades. Next day we found a discarded Jap officer’s kit containing a similar razor which I carried for the remainder of the campaign.

A few days later we learned that Bertie had died. He was holding his own, not seriously wounded but he didn’t make it. Later I met his mother.

The Company Commander and the Patrolling subaltern were awarded the M.C. ©Ron Reynolds