by Stuart Slade
“Captain, two torpedo boats. Close by Nagam Island.”
“I see them, Laurent. Bring the ship around to oh-nine-oh. Prepare to open fire on them as soon as we are clear of the Laoya islands in the middle of the anchorage. And order Amiral Charner to take its lead from us.”
Dumont d’Urville was now parallelling the course of La Motte-Picquet but falling steadily behind the cruiser. Looking at the charts, Babineau realized that Berenger, on board La Motte-Picquet, couldn’t see the torpedo boats, since they were screened by Koh Wai Island. “Captain, we have a clear line of fire now. I believe the Thais are trying to raise steam over there.”
Babineau took another look. In the dim pre-dawn light, the threads of smoke from the two torpedo boats were only just dimly visible. Certainly, the two ships weren’t moving. The three 140mm guns on Dumont d’Urville crashed out, sending the first shells of the battle towards the two Thai ships. It was a ranging salvo; three shots spaced out to straddle the targets. Actually, all three fell short. The next salvo was over. It was only the third that actually achieved the desired straddle.
The forward 3-inch gun on one torpedo boat opened fire. Babineau guessed that it was aiming at the gun flashe,s but the shots weren’t even close. The next salvo from Dumont d’Urville fell all around the torpedo boat. They must be taking splinter damage at the very least. The 140mm guns fired again. This time the target reeled from the impact of a direct hit. The orange glow of a major fire started to spread from her midship section.
“Why the devil isn’t Amiral Charner firing?” Captain de Quieverecourt was furious. The French force had achieved complete surprise, yet his was the only ship firing on what appeared to be a defenseless enemy. “Laurent, contact her and order her to open fire on those torpedo boats.”
Babineau grabbed a signal lamp and sent out the message as ordered. While he did so, the Thai torpedo boat had been hit twice more. She was clearly sinking. Her companion was starting to move very slowly, but she was firing her trio of three-inch guns. Where the shots were going was another matter. Certainly it was nowhere close to Dumont d’Urville. The signal lamp on Amiral Charner started to wink. Babineau took down the message. Its content actually made his jaw drop with shock.
“Sir, with respect, the message from Amiral Charner says that Commodore Berenger did not place you in command of this division so, therefore, Amiral Charner will dictate her own movements in compliance with the Commodore’s orders.”
Babineau shook his head. It seemed incredible, but the Captain of Amiral Charner was actually correct. Commodore Berenger had divided his squadron into three divisions but not appointed anybody to command those divisions. Correct that may be, but it would take a mind of incredible pettiness to make an issue of such things in the middle of a battle. Babineau’s thoughts were interrupted by more cheering from the bridge. The gun crews on Dumont d’Urville were into their stride; the guns fired with a rapidity they had rarely achieved before. The second Thai torpedo boat was already hit and her return fire was faltering. That was when a broadside of 155mm shells from La Motte-Picquet blanketed the position of the first torpedo boat to be taken under fire.
If she wasn’t sinking already, she certainly is now. Babineau actually felt sorry for the poor ship. She was hopelessly outmatched by the cruiser and sloops that were pounding her and didn’t even have the steam raised to make a run for it. She was rolling over already and was finished. A sad way for a ship to die. At least she got a shot off to save her honor. The other torpedo boat was in no better condition; her death was made certain when the La Motte-Picquet switched fire on to her.
“Bring us around to oh-oh-five.” de Quieverecourt snapped the order out. He hoped that Amiral Charner would follow the maneuver, since there was a limb of the anchorage ahead and there might be game there.
“Captain, Amiral Charner reports we are under attack by a third torpedo boat approaching from the north. It has a merchant ship following it.”
“What?” de Quieverecourt frowned. “A merchant ship?”
Any additional questions he might have had were broken by the firing of Amiral Charner’s guns as she engaged the new targets. Babineau looked across to where the shells were directed. The ships were hard to see in the gloom and shadows of the nearby land, but he caught a glimpse of the targets in the light of the shells exploding. Two funnels amidships. Suddenly, he realized what was happening. He snapped out a signal to the other sloop. “Cease firing, those ships are the Marne and Tahurel”
To Babineau’s sickened dismay, Amiral Charner continued firing. Marne’s silhouette was disfigured by the red flare of a hit and the orange glow of fire. That made the identity of the ship painfully obvious. Mercifully, Amiral Charner ceased fire.
HTMS Thon buri, off Koh Krabung, Koh Chang Anchorage, Thailand
“Get under way now.”
Commander Luang Phrom Viraphan snarled the order out. Thonburi was the only diesel-engined ship in the fleet. That meant she was the only one that could move right away. The attack had come a vital few minutes earlier than he had expected. Another quarter of an hour, 30 minutes at most, the four torpedo boats would have raised steam. Faced with them, the French squadron would have been in an invidious position. But he’d never had those few minutes.
The fleet was still raising steam. The fate of the two torpedo boats slaughtered off Koh Ngam showed what would happen to the other ships if the French squadron got to them. There were two more torpedo boats, two fleet oilers, several transports and a minelayer back in the anchorage. Thonburi had to protect them until they got under way. Luang Phrom cursed the fact that Thonburi’s sister ship Ayuthya was not there to help him.
Luang Phrom felt the vibration under his feet as the diesels started to move the gunboat forward. “Navigation, keep us in shallow water. That’s to make the French stay at longer range.”
“Torpedoes!”
The scream of warning from the lookout was nearly panic-stricken. The eastern sky was much brighter now. Deep purple changed to light blue as the sun steadily neared the point where it would peek over the horizon. In the extra light, the white streaks on the water were clearly visible. Thonburi was moving, but just barely. The torpedoes were perfectly aimed. For a moment, Luang Phrom was dismally certain that his mission to protect the rest of the fleet would be ended before it started. Then, the tracks were replaced by white-capped blasts. The torpedoes exploded in the shoal water.
“And that’s another reason to stay in shallow water.”
A combination of relief at the sudden end to a near-mortal threat and the fact that the Captain’s jokes are always funny caused a wave of laughter to sweep the bridge. The problem was that Thonburi was silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky to the east. The French ships were lost on the darkness to the west. Still, the flash of their guns had been visible and there was just enough light to see a vague shadow.
“And, open fire.”
The gunboat lurched as her four 200mm guns roared out. Luang Phrom hoped against hope that he would see the brilliant flash of hits on the leading French ship but there were none. It had indeed been a faint chance under the conditions prevailing. He was still disappointed.
“Prepare to fire again. Wait on my command.” This is going to be a long fight. We will have to save ammunition. Over to the east, there was a tiny white spot that marked the first tip of the sun coming over the horizon. In a few minutes, the sun would be up and the French ships would be staring right into it. That would swing the advantage back to Thonburi.
French Sloop Dumont d’Urville, Koh Chang Anchorage, Thailand
“La Motte-Picquet has fired torpedoes.”
Babineau made the report with a slight degree of reluctance. He could see the Siamese gunboat by Krabung Island and the white streaks of water that marked the torpedoes on their way to destroy her. He lost track of them in the semi-darkness but say the white towers of water and then the brilliant flash of explosions. “We got her.”
A few seconds
later, there was the train-like roar of 200mm shells. Four towers of water rose between the La Motte-Picquet and the Dumont d’Urville.
“That must be the other gunboat.” de Quieverecourt was surprised at the speed with which the Thai gunboats had opened fire. “Those gunboats are only 2,200 tons. The one we just hit won’t be firing at anything with three torpedoes in her.”
Babineau glanced aft. Marne and Tahure had fallen in aft of the two larger sloops. The fire on Marne had been put out very quickly. Mercifully, she had only a few wounded from the ‘friendly’ shell that Amiral Charner had put into her. Nevertheless, her captain was maintaining a hurt silence. Viewed objectively, Babineau couldn’t blame him.
“Open fire, Laurent.”
de Quieverecourt noted that the movement of the ships had brought a Thai gunboat into his firing arcs, while La Motte-Picquet’s rush eastwards had meant that any shots she might have had were at Mai Si Yai Island. Dumont d’Urville was a well-drilled ship and her gun crews were filled with confidence after the destruction of the two torpedo boats a few minutes earlier. The only question that de Quieverecourt couldn’t answer was where the gunboat La Motte-Picquet had torpedoed was. Could she have sunk so quickly? Perhaps, after three hits on a small ship like that. That thought was interrupted by the crash of 140mm guns as the French sloop opened fire.
“I can’t see what’s happening, Captain.” Babineau sounded frustrated. “We’re staring right into the rising sun and I can’t see a damned thing. That’s why La Motte-Picquet is heading so far ahead of us. She’s trying to get clear of the sun.”
There was another train-roar overhead. This time, there was no doubt as to which ship was the target. The four shells exploded in the water around Dumont d’Urville. Her side plating rang as a patter of fragments hit the steel. Her own guns returned the salvo. The glare from the rising sun stopped Babineau from seeing where they landed. The minutes ticked past, with the slow exchange of ineffective salvoes growing more hesitant. In Babineau’s opinion, he was shooting blind. The futility of the exercise annoyed him.
“Captain, we can’t engage under these conditions and our flashes are just giving the Siamese something to aim at. I suggest we cease fire until we can spot the fall of shot.”
de Quieverecourt nodded. Dumont d’Urville’s gun fell silent. A few second later, another salvo arrived from the Thai gunboat. This one was far aft of Dumont d’Urville; a close straddle on the Amiral Charner. For a moment, Babineau thought she had been hit, but there was no tell-tale burst of black smoke or red glow of fire from her.
“Close but not close enough, Captain.”
“If she had more than four guns, we would be in serious trouble by now. She just hasn’t the number of guns needed to give a dense shell pattern.”
“Nor do we, sir.”
“True, but we’re not supposed to get involved in this kind of fight.”
Behind them, Amiral Charner had been straddled again. The next rounds seemed to be a long time coming. That made Babineau look; first at the gunboat that was maneuvering away from the line of four sloops, then at La Motte-Picquet. The cruiser was firing her guns in full broadsides; eight 155mm weapons blasting out rounds at her target. The first broadsides were badly off; Babineau guessed that La Motte-Picquet had mistaken the shots from the Amiral Charner as her own. Four broadsides in, she obviously realized her mistake and corrected her aim.
HTMS Thonburi, off Koh Krabung, Koh Chang Anchorage, Thailand
“Move to intercept that cruiser.”
Luang Phrom was buying time and he knew it. The sun was up and that was both a good and a bad thing. His position in the eye of the rising sun had allowed him to engage the four sloops and hold them at bay while expending relatively little ammunition and suffering no damage from the wildly inaccurate return fire. Now the sun had risen properly, he no longer had that advantage. The accuracy of the French gunnery was improving.
On the other hand, the fact it was now daylight meant that the dive bombers would soon be on their way, if they weren’t already. And always, there was the question of steam. Every minute that passed meant the other warships would be that much closer to joining Thonburi’s lonely fight against five French warships.
The tactical situation was changing as well. Up to now, the French cruiser had been out of the fight, masked behind Koh Mai Si Yai and Koh Mai Si Lek. Now she was emerging from their shadow and was threatening to make an end-run past the Thonburi. Capable of more than 30 knots, the cruiser could do that and there would be little Thonburi could do to stop her, unless she was physically in the way. Luang Phrom saw the ripple of flashes along the cruiser and heard the howl of the inbound shells. Fortunately, they were well off-target.
“Shift target to that cruiser.”
“She’s La Motte-Picquet. I saw her on a trip to Saigon not so long ago.” Lieutenant Sunan Shinawatra looked at his Captain and smiled. “I was on a Dutch liner, travelling for my family’s silk business. Met an American called Jim Thompson. Oddly, I just happened to have a very good camera with me when we passed the French warships.” His reminiscence was interrupted by another broadside from the cruiser. This one was closer but it was still far enough away. In reply, Thonburi’s 200mm guns sent a full broadside at the cruiser. The four splashes were all around her but there was no sign of a hit.
“We need more guns. Our salvoes aren’t dense enough to give a good number ofhits.”
“The new cruisers will have six guns.”
Luang Phrom knew that was irrelevant. What mattered were the forces here and now. Where are those dive bombers? We need the support here.
“Lieutenant, go aft to the secondary control position. If anything happens to the bridge, you will take over the ship from there. Your orders in that event are simple. Keep fighting until the French retreat or the ship sinks under you.”
A third salvo from the French cruiser was also wild. In reply, Thonburi once again straddled her without scoring any hits. The next French salvo was different. It was on target. The eight shells were close enough to the gunboat to rattle her sides with splinters. La Motte-Picquet paid a price for her accuracy though.
Thonburi straddled her once again. This time, there was a brilliant red flash between the funnels. Luang Phrom heard the cheer go up from his ship at the long-delayed success. He saw La Motte-Picquet reverse course and return behind the shelter of Koh Mai Si Lek. The threat of an end-run was past, for the moment.
“Reverse course; head back for Koh Krabung. Let us see what our guests in their sloops are up to.”
French Sloop Dumont d’Urville, Koh Chang Anchorage, Thailand
“What the devil is Berenger up to?” Babineau let the words slip out with much more force than he intended or was prudent.
“He is concentrating his force, I think. Perhaps he realizes that dispersing us all over the anchorage may not have been the best of policies. His orders are for us to circle Baidang Island until he joins us. Then his intentions are for us to assault as a group and force our way past that gunboat.”
This is what we should have been doing an hour ago, de Quieverecourt thought, instead of wasting time messing around. We should have been in the anchorage by now, shooting up eveiything that floats. One look at the charts shows there is only one way in for ships that draw as much water as we do and that damned gunboat is blocking it.
“She’s hit!” Babineau’s report was a gasp of dismay. “She’s taken a hit amidships.”
Every pair of binoculars on the bridge swung to look at La Motte-Picquet. The cloud of smoke amidships was apparent, but there was no red glare of fire and she didn’t seem to be slowing. “Captain, a report from the flagship. She took a hit amidships that has penetrated the armor but damage is not serious. Commodore Berenger’s compliments and the four sloops are to join him at Baidang Island for an assault on the main anchorage.”
“Assuming the dive bombers don’t get here first.” de Quieverecourt muttered the words to himself, but he saw Babineau
nodding. The threat of the Thai dive bombers was on both officer’s minds.
The minutes ticked by as La Motte-Picquet closed on the four sloops that had rounded Baidang Island and were now heading west. Eventually she drew level with them and rounded the island again; the sloops fell in behind her. At that point, the Thai gunboat reappeared from behind Mai Si Yai Island. Her guns flashed again. The salvo of four shells landed all around the La Motte-Picquet. The cruiser picked up speed, heading east and leaving the slow sloops behind.
“Message from the flagship, sir. It says the Siamese are trying to escape via this channel and we are to remain here to block them. The flagship will go into the main anchorage by the eastern channel.”
“Damn him, why can’t he make his mind up? We’re running against the clock here and he is going backwards and forwards.” Babineau didn’t care who heard him. He swung his binoculars up and watched La Motte-Picquet round Chan Island and head northeast. Then, he swung his gaze to the Thai gunboat. She had reversed course and was heading east as well.
“There he goes; determined little bugger isn’t he?”
Despite the situation, de Quieverecourt was almost laughing at the comment. “You know, I think I like the captain of that gunboat. He’s decided what he wants to do and has set his mind on doing it. There are others who could learn from that example.”
HTMS Thonburi, off Koh Mai Si Lek, Koh Chang Anchorage, Thailand
Lieutenant Sunan expected La Motte-Picquet to emerge from the shadow of Koh Mai Si Lek any moment. Based on her previous behavior, she should he at least 15,000 meters out, in the deeper waters beyond the Koh Sang anchorage itself. That was the best range for Thonburi, one where her 200mm guns were still effective but the older 155mm weapons on the La Motte-Picquet were loosing effectiveness. He had the guns already loaded, trained and elevated so that he could open fire with the minimum of delay.
