A Mighty Endeavor

by Stuart Slade

  Second Battalion, First Regiment, 9th Infantry (Black Panther) Division

  “Any casualties?” Colonel Romklao had his maps out in front of him.

  “None, sir. The men pulled back quickly. They’re certain, though, it was mortar fire. A 60mm mortar.”

  Romklao knew the implication of that. A single 60mm mortar firing meant they had an infantry company ahead of them. His reconnaissance squad had goaded the French into opening fire with it. That had told him all he needed to know. It was probably a full strength company as well. Romklao regretted bitterly that the infantry platoon he had run into earlier in the day had managed to slip away. They’ve had plenty of time to rejoin their company. It would have been better to have put them in the bag earlier.

  His battalion was flowing forward, mostly silently. That was part of the doctrine they had carefully absorbed from their German instructors. Don’t get hung up on every enemy force that tries to block you. Go around them; filter past them and leave them cut off in your rear. Follow-up forces will deal with the troops you have bypassed. Keep the initiative by continually moving forward. Don’t get involved in fights you don’t have to; but, if you have to fight, bring every scrap of force you can summon against your enemy. The Germans had used the analogy of a man digging a hole in dry sand. As fast as he shovelled it out, it would flow back around him. The only problem was that, in this particular case, he was the follow-up element. The other two battalions in the regiment were already moving to occupy Hill 280 some 12 kilometers further east.

  “Are the guns ready?” The Regiment had a battery of six 77mm infantry guns ,but it had been split down to three two-gun sections; one section was attached to each infantry battalion. That was another thing their instructors had stressed; most of the damage done by artillery took place with the first few rounds. After that, the effectiveness of the guns declined steeply. A few shells right at the start of an action were worth hundreds later on. Not for the first time, Romklao reflected grimly on how much hard-won expertise their advisors had passed on. Before their arrival, he’d never understood just how much his Army had to learn. Now, he knew enough to wonder whether his army was capable of translating lessons into practical experience.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lieutenant Kulap Kamon had brought his guns up and positioned them behind the ridgeline exploited by the recon section. This was their second time in action. A few hours earlier, they’d dispersed a French outpost at Phoum Kham Reng. It had been a minor action, starting with a sergeant wounded by a sniper and ending when a few rounds from his guns had sent the rest of the French unit running. But it had been enough to give his men some of the swagger of veterans.

  “Have smoke ready. The machine guns will open the battle.”

  Romklao had positioned his four heavy machine guns carefully. They were screened from direct fire, but their bursts would graze the top of the ridge before plunging on the French positions. Each machine gun had its limits set. They would fire along those lines to rake the French positions with gunfire. Indirect fire from machine guns; Romklao knew he would never have believed it was practical.

  “Colonel, we have the dive bombers waiting. Nine Hawk IIIs, with four 50-kilo bombs each. Their pilots await our word.”

  The comment from the Air Force officer in the truck sounded a little pompous, but rumors were already spreading on how the dive bombers demoralized the French infantry. The rumor mill was always more efficient than any regular communications system could be. There had been doubts within the Army about whether assigning Air Force pilots to Army units this way had been wise, or even sensible, but the idea was working.

  “Ask them to hold please. We will mark the target with smoke when we want them to make their attack.”

  Romklao took a flare gun and fired a red flare into the sky. There was a pregnant pause. Then rifle fire broke out along the ridgeline to the north. Romklao had two of his four infantry companies spread out along the ridge with orders to pin down the French right and prevent them reinforcing their left.

  “Machine gunners, open fire on the French positions.”

  Infantry Company, Second Battalion, 16e Regiment d’Infanterie Coloniale, RC-157, French Indochina

  Captain Dieudonne had been expecting the attack to develop on his right but the force that was taking part astonished him. The volume of rifle fire was much more than that of a company. He could count at least six light machine guns snapping short bursts into the positions held by his two platoons on the right flank. The firing spread quickly along the line. Now he heard the sustained jackhammer noise of heavy machine guns. For a moment, he thought that it had started to rain. The sight of some of his men, caught in the open, falling to the ground quickly dispelled any such notion. He was under indirect machine gun fire. It’s probably just suppressive fire. The enemy’s main strength is on my right.

  In truth, after the initial surprise, the machine gun fire achieved very little. At most, it disrupted movement in the French position. Once the French infantry had gone to ground, their casualties were very few. So, it was no surprise to him that the whistle of inbound artillery fire dominated the noise of the battle. The shells seemed aimed directly at him. Their noise swelled to a crescendo before the shells exploded with soft, dull thuds in front of his positions. The white smoke billowed upwards. Just like Lieutenant Roul a few hours earlier, Dieudonne thought that he was coming under gas attack. His mind recalled ugly pictures of the time when he had been a young Lieutenant in the trenches of 1918 and had seen gas at work for the first time. Thankfully, it isn’t gas; just smoke. Roul mentioned that the Siamese like smoke screens.

  “They’re coining.”

  The cry went up from along the trenches that marked the position of the platoon on his left. Dieudonne looked at the advancing infantry with a degree of shock. The main attack was coming on his left and was in much greater strength than he had believed possible. There were more than two hundred Thai infantry attacking; perhaps closer to three. They swarmed forward, beginning their descent of the long ridge that had shielded them. Beyond his left, Dieudonne saw another force of infantry, at least equal to the one on the ridge, moving to envelop his flank. There is no way that this force could be anything less than a whole regiment. Any further thoughts along those lines were disrupted by the scream from overhead.

  Each Thai Hawk III had peeled over. The aircraft dove on the French positions beneath. The noise of their near-vertical, full-power descent hammered into the brains of the men below. It prevented rational thought and dispelled any attempt to organize a defense. Looking up at the aircraft, each and every man was convinced that the attack was aimed personally at him. The defenses started to break apart. One of the sections of Dieudonne’s heavy machine gun platoon was trained for antiaircraft work. The crews held firm. They sent two streams of tracers skywards. The effort only brought about their destruction. The dive bombers saw where the fire was coming from. The later aircraft to dive used that area as their target. The Hotchkiss machine guns were silenced by a combination of bombing and strafing before they could do any harm.

  The biplanes grew as they neared the ground. The snarl of the engines and the howl of the wind through their wings combined to make a deafening roar. The Hawks didn’t carry the additional sirens that were used by the Vought ground attack aircraft, but their effect on the morale of those below them was still devastating. The French infantry couldn’t stand. They were already out of their defenses and running for the rear when the 50-kilogram bombs exploded around them. By the time the air attack was over, Dieudonne’s left flank had collapsed as thoroughly as if it had never been. Now the Thai infantry were into his defenses.

  The French fought as they fell back, firing their Berthier rifles from the hip. Officers tried to rally their men and used their pistols on the enemy who was enveloping them. It was fruitless. Some of the French troops rallied and tried to form a defensive line. They were too outnumbered, their tactical coherence already been shattered by
the bombing. A few of their shots struck home. A handful of the advancing enemy fell. But the men of the platoon had no chance. They were either shot down while they fought or threw down their weapons and raised their arms.

  Dieudonne drew his pistol and fired it until it ran dry, but his position was hopeless. As the green-clad infantrymen surrounded him, he threw his pistol to the ground and raised his hands. Behind him, he saw the positions on his right being rolled up as they were taken in the rear.

  “Captain, please ask your men to surrender. You have done all that you can. There is no point in more bloodshed.”

  Dieudonne looked at the Thai infantry officer standing in front of him. Again, memories of the First War came back, triggered by the German-style helmet. French intelligence material all said that the Thais used the Fremch Adrian helmet, but it was obviously wrong. He found himself wondering what else he had been told was mistaken.

  Infantry Platoon, Second Battalion, 16e Regiment d’Infanterie Coloniale, French Indochina

  “Sergeant, we need to get out of here.”

  Lieutenant Roul gave private thanks that he had been positioned on the extreme end of the line. The dive bombing and artillery fire had been far enough away that his platoon wasn’t too badly affected. It also gave him time to see the platoon on the left dissolve under the ferocious assault and the first of the two platoons on the right of the road break up. His unit was next and he didn’t intend to sit still and let it happen.

  “Down the road, quickly.”

  The NCOs passed the word and the platoon started to fall back along the road. It was a race. The prize getting clear of the trap they were in before the jaws closed on them. The Thai infantry on the ridgeline to the north extended beyond Roul’s position. Their rifle fire was galling. Roul saw some of his men falling as bullets bit home. Other members of their squads tried to help the wounded back, but the delay meant they too fell from the increasing volume of rifle fire.

  “Leave them! Everybody save yourselves. The Siamese will look after the wounded.”

  Roul hated himself for giving the order but he realized he had little choice. More Thai infantry were already closing in from the South. It was going to be a very finely cut thing for any of his men would get clear. His order gave no indication about running, but it might as well have. The entire platoon, Roul included, broke into a trot and then into a full run. Roul’s humiliation filled his throat and made him feel sick. He was leading a rout, running away from a battle. What would my father think of me? The thought made tears stream from his eyes.

  What was left of the platoon made it to an area of thick scrub and bushes about a kilometer east down RC-157. It wasn’t just that the scrub and bushes provided cover; there was a slight, horse-shoe shaped rise around it that screened him from view. Roul knew he had learned something today. Even a meter rise in the ground could be tactically vital. That one-meter rise saved his platoon from total destruction.

  Even so, he looked back on the road and saw the lines of figures in horizon blue that marked the path of his rout. He had started the day with four sergeants, four corporals and 32 privates. Counting the men he had left, he could see private first class Leo Corneille, Sergeant Arsene Ambroise and one or two more.

  How many men survived?

  “Corporal Frenais; eleven men, sir. Three of them are wounded but can walk.”

  It was as if the sergeant can read my mind. So answer me this. What do we do next? “Very good, Sergeant. The Siamese will be clearing the battlefield and that will give us a chance to break away. We must head for Yang Dham Khung. That’s where the main body will be assembling.” Dear God, I started this day with 41 men and now there 14 of us left. And we have achieved nothing.

  Roul used his binoculars to watch the Thai infantry back at the position they had just seized. Three Vickers tanks and some trucks joined them. Some of the trucks had red crosses pained on them; stretchers were being placed in them. As one was lifted on, Roul caught a glimpse of horizon blue from the man on it.

  Thank God. They are looking after my wounded.

  Supreme Command Headquarters, Bangkok, Thailand

  “We badly need those Ki-30s. If we had ordered them as I wished …” Marshal Plaek Pibulsonggram sounded reproachful.

  “Politically, the order would have been disastrous. It would have linked us to the Japanese and ruled out any other options. There is more at stake here than just the fighting now in progress.” The Ambassador snapped the reply out. She was tired, despite managing a quick nap while flying down to Bangkok on her private Boeing 247.

  “Our pilots are flying five or six missions a day. Because of that, we have already lost a Hawk 75N from a crash. The pilots are very tired. We cannot go on like this.”

  “We can and we will.” The Ambassador’s voice was pitiless. “Every hope we have for the future now hangs on us defeating the French in Indochina. And we are defeating them. We have driven them back almost 30 kilometers and are only 20 kilometers from Sisophon. We have wiped out their border forces already. All that is left of them are groups of stragglers heading east.

  “We know the French are assembling their main force at Yang Dham Khung. They have massed nine battalions of infantry, two battalions of artillery and a company of tanks there. When the French launch their counterattack from Yang Dham Khung, we will have 15 battalions of infantry, three of artillery and two complete battalions of tanks waiting for them.

  “In the north, we have already reached the Mekong in Laos and are digging in there. North of the Tonle Sap, we are swinging across country, peeling off units to guard the Mekong as we move east. Above all, the fourth regiment of the Queen’s Cobra Division is swinging south to by-pass Battambang to the east. The first regiment of the White Horse Division is swinging north from Trat to the same destination. The other two cavalry regiments are heading for Phnom Penh. When they link up, the whole French Army in Indochina will be encircled around Battambang while we advance on Phnom Penh from north and south of the Tonle Sap. Soon, there will be nothing left between us and Saigon. The French have no idea what they are up against.”

  Marshal Plaek raised his hand placatingly. “I know what we are achieving. And I understand how important those achievements are. I just fear for how long our Air Force can keep up its efforts.”

  The Ambassador relaxed slightly. “Perhaps this may calm your fears. We captured these documents at a minor skirmish on RC-157. An affair of no great importance, except for the capture of these French intelligence assessments of our forces. Take a look at them.”

  She handed the role of documents over and Palek read them. As he did, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “These are completely wrong. The French seem to think we have copied their triangular division and regiment structure. They don’t realize our infantry divisions use the German square structure with four regiments per division and four companies per battalion. That basic mistake means they’re underestimating our strength by over a third. They put our army at 44 infantry battalions? Now that we are mobilized, we have seventy-seven and that increases as more reservists join the colors.”

  “And those battalions are a third larger than theirs.” The Ambassador sounded very satisfied. “The Air Force need only struggle for a few more days, my old friend. Then, our pilots can rest before we deal with the Japanese.”

  AntiTank Company, 3rd Battalion, 5th Regiment Etranger d’Infanterie, Yang Dham Khung, French Indochina

  At least, this time, we have the high ground.

  Here, the French forces were arrayed along a ridge that lay behind a twisting river. It is, Roul thought, a good defensive position. On the long march back along RC-157, he’d realized just how hard this part of Indochina was to defend. The ground sloped steeply downwards from the mountains along the Thai border, so anybody advancing from the west always had the high ground. This was the first point at which the geography changed. Here, the French positions were at an elevation of 30 meters while the low ground in front of them was, at mo
st, 16 meters. What worried him was that the Indochina Army would be launching its counterattack from these positions and would have to pass through the heavily-forested areas that lay between their ridge and the river. Roul’s two previous actions had taught him that the Thai Army knew how to maneuver and he suspected they would make good use of that jungle.

  The problem was that Colonel Jacomy, whose “Groupement J” was assigned to conduct the attack, wouldn’t listen to anybody. Especially a Lieutenant whose sole contributions to the engagements over the last few days had apparently been to retreat as fast as his legs would carry him. Roul’s attempts to report on the actions he had fought and the lessons he had learned had been brushed aside with overt contempt. The survivors of his platoon had been assigned to reinforce an antitank battery belonging to the Fifth Regiment of the Foreign Legion. To an officer of the regular French Army, that was very close to being an insult.

  The antitank unit had two Model 1934 25mm guns. Roul wasn’t quite sure what the third gun was. It had originally been a standard Soixante-Quinze, but the Legionnaires had modified its carriage drastically so that it sat much lower on the ground and was easier to move around. He’d arranged the three guns in a triangle, with the 75 at the back. The 25mm gun was light and underpowered, but it could deal with any tank in this part of the world. Roul was more worried about the Thai infantry. Against them, the 25mm was just a very big rifle. The Soixante-Quinze had explosive shells as well as solid shot and could put up an adequate fight.

  “Interesting defensive position.”

  Roul jumped at the unexpected comment. He looked around and saw Major Belloc, commander of the Foreign Legion battalion standing behind him. He jumped to attention and snapped out a salute.

  “Sir?”

  “Putting the Soixante-Quinze at the rear. How did you come to that conclusion?”

  Roul took a deep breath. “Sir, I’ve fought the Siamese twice now. Each time, when they ran into opposition, they maneuvered us out of our defenses. They would never attack us frontally. They always pinned us down and then maneuvered against our flanks. If there was a position that was too tough for them to take with a quick attack, they would bypass it and continue on.”