by Stuart Slade
“We have news from Phoum Preav.” Major Belloc arrived with as little warning as he had on his previous visits. This time, though, his formerly immaculate Foreign Legion khaki was stained and blackened. The infantry of the 3rd battalion had been hammering the position held by the Thais for over four hours, with no success. “Groupement C under Colonel Cadoudal has been severely handled. 19th RMIC has been cut to pieces and Colonel Quelenc has been killed. Jourdain, what do you think the Thais are up to right now?”
“We’ve got the only high ground here.” Roul was thoughtful. “They can’t use the ridgelines for cover the way they did before. Not if they come through to the north of us. If they’re going to try that, they’ll have to come south; long way south, around Phoum Kdol.”
“Turning our left flank, the way we tried to turn theirs.” Belloc chewed the advice over. Roul was the only man in his command who had fought the Thais before and the Lieutenant’s insights were precious to him. “The way they are pushing Groupement C back is consistent with that. And for us?”
Roul thought back over the engagements he had already fought. “They’ll try and pin us down here while they cut us off. Expect to see an attack that is much sound and much fury but signifying nothing. A lot of fire, a lot of artillery and their dive bombers will hit us, but they won’t push the attack home on the ground. When that starts, we’ll know they are behind us. There will be a brief moment when we can get out; we can disengage and pull back to another defensive position. Leave it too late and we will either be encircled or we will have to break out.”
He was interrupted by a drone of aircraft engines overhead. Roul watched Major Belloc look up at the biplanes in the clear morning sky. “Corsairs. There is only one problem with your analysis, Jourdain. Colonel Jacomy has sternly forbidden us to retreat.”
Overhead, the drone of engines turned to the wailing scream familiar to anybody who had seen cinema films of the fighting in France the previous year. The Corsairs dropped almost vertically out of the sky. The scream of their engines was amplified by the sirens on their fixed undercarriages and the wind howling over the struts between their wings. To Roul’s relief, the target was the French infantry position to his front. As yet, his antitank guns had not fired; the battery remained masked. He had a hunch that the situation was quickly reaching the point where he would be earning his pay for the day.
In front of him, the infantry broke under the dive bombing. They streamed backwards, abandoning their positions and fleeing the coming battle. Roul heard the shouts as they went.
“The tanks are coming! We are betrayed!”
He took a deep breath to steady himself. Overhead, the Corsairs finished their dive bombing runs and started strafing the retreating infantry. That brought them much closer to Roul’s position.
“Steady, men. Sergeant Ambroise, the crews should be ready to open fire. The 25mm guns will engage the tanks. The Soixante-Quinze will hold its fire until we have a clear shot at the supporting infantry. Private Corneille, you know your duty. I leave you to carry it out. Without the infantry supporting us, the whole weight of repelling this attack falls on us. Let us show them what regulars can achieve.”
The attack was following very closely behind the dive bombers. Just how do the Siamese manage to bring their aircraft in so quickly? Roul could see four Vickers 6-ton Type B tanks surrounded by the green-clad infantry. They already had an air of implacability about them. If the French infantry had remained at their posts, there would be a firefight going on now. But they had not; the positions were deserted. The effect on the advancing Thais was discernable even at this distance. Their advance picked up speed.
“Target the two tanks in the center.”
Roul passed the word to his gun crews. They carefully aimed their pieces. The antitank guns had the advantage, for the first few shots at least. They didn’t intend to waste them. Roul waited until the tanks had closed in and then gave the order to fire.
The first two shots didn’t seem to achieve much. The tank targeted by one had turned at the last second. The shot sprayed dirt and stones all over it, but did no apparent damage. Roul saw a brilliant flash as the shot hit the frontal armor, but it seemed to ricochet off. The tanks stopped; it was obvious that the crews were searching for the gun that had fired on them. Roul understood their problem. Unlike the larger, and theoretically more capable, 37mm guns, the Hotchkiss 25mm had a negligible firing signature. Unless one knew where to look and caught it while firing, there was little to see. The tanks started to move again. Now they edged forward, while the infantry moved ahead of them. Then, there were two more cracks. The 25mm crews took their next shots.
This time, the two guns had concentrated on a single target. Their shots had effect. A tank spun to one side. Its tracks flailed; a drive wheel was destroyed by the hit. The other three tanks had seen something; they started firing their 47mm guns at the site of the antitank guns. Their supporting infantry moved forward fast, attempting to find and clear the antitank guns that threatened their advance.
The survivors of Roul’s infantry platoon opened fire. Their light machine guns cut down the Thai infantry. Roul jumped down beside the crew of his 75mm gun and pointed to a group of the green-clad men.
“There, take them down!”
The Soixante-Quinze fired. The burst of the high-explosive shell scattered the attacking infantry. The antitank guns fired again; their shots hit the Thai tanks but ricocheted off their armor. The 25mm was a good gun for its size; but, at this range and against real targets, its penetration was marginal. The 75 did better. The crew loaded an armor-piercing shot. The effect on the Type B was devastating. The turret spiralled high into the air. What was left of the hull erupted into flames. With two of its tanks gone and the infantry driven to ground by the fire from Roul’s platoon, the Thai attack faltered and fell back.
“That was well done.” Major Belloc had reappeared. “A creditable defense indeed. However, I have to tell you that the Thais have taken Phoum Kien Kes and cut RC-157 some eight kilometers to our rear. And in the north, Sisophon has fallen to them. We are cut off; all six battalions of us. Colonel Jacomy has ordered us to hold our positions. The remainder of the forces at Battambang will break through and relieve us.”
Belloc and Roul exchanged glances. It was Belloc whose quotation expressed what they both knew was going to happen.
“Nous sommes dans un pot de chambre, et nous y serons emmerdes.”
5th Cavalry Battalion, 2nd Cavalry “White Horse” Division, Mung Roessei, French Indochina
The road was hard-topped. The black asphalt seemed to shimmer in the afternoon sun. A few tens of meters away, the waters of the Tonle Sap shone in the same sun. The great lake stretched from Battambang most of the way back to Phnom Penh; here, it cut Cambodia nearly in half.
The scene on the road was something that its builders had never anticipated. The Carden-Lloyd machine gun carrier rocked slightly on its suspension as it halted across the left-hand lane. Behind it, the trucks of the infantry battalions stopped as well and discharged their men to form the defense perimeter. It hadn’t been a hard fight on the drive up from Chantaburi; the few French roadblocks had been shelled, dive bombed and bypassed. The only real problem had been the driving urgency to get to this point with minimum delay. That, the battalion had done. They had made it on time and done their duty. Now they, and their vehicles, could rest.
The same could not be said for the other two regiments of the division. They would be heading east, along the road that had just been captured. For the road in question was Route Coloniale Five leading from Battambang to Phnom Penh and it was the main supply line for the entire French Indochina Army now concentrated around Battambang.
FKL-60 Operating Base, Nakhorn Phanom, Thailand
“There is not much difference between the P-36G and the Hawk 75N you have flown up to now.” The American civilian speaking to Flight Lieutenant Suchart Chalermkiat had landed the aircraft behind him just an hour before, a
fter flying it in from India. “That’s why we’re getting them through to you first. The P-40Bs can follow later when you have more time to convert.”
Suchart understood what the American was getting at, even while the interpreter was translating his words. FKL-60 had started with 11 Hawk 75Ns; now they had five. Two had been shot down by French Morane fighters; two by ground fire. Two had been lost in accidents. The eight aircraft that had just arrived from India were desperately needed. “P-36Gs?”
“Army Air Corps designation for the Mohawk IV. You’ve got the retractable undercarriage, of course. Don’t forget to pull it up when you take off and lower it before landing. We’ve lost aircraft because of that. There’s an extra machine gun in each wing, giving you six. We’ve replaced the French 7.5mm guns with British .303 Brownings. That’s cost you some ammunition capacity. Otherwise, you’ll find the aircraft is 40 mph faster then the 75N, and that’s about all. Lands the same way and is a touch more agile. Take her up and try her out.”
“Thank you,…” Suchart hesitated.
“Boyington; everybody calls me Pappy. How many kills you got?” It was the standard fighter pilot question; Suchart was slightly flattered by being asked. It meant this American recognized him as being one of the club.
“Does that include aircraft on the ground?” Suchart got a sideways look by way of response; he kicked himself for the obvious mistake. “Of course not. So far, three. Two Moranes and a Farman bomber. The last one was at night.”
Boyington nodded. “Four here. All Japanese. When you fight them, the major one you’ll run across is the Nakajima. You can recognize it by its fixed undercarriage. It’s as agile as the devil, but only got two .30s. Your Hawk can handle it as long as you don’t try and do a low-speed dogfight. There’s a bigger version of it that’s a bit faster and got a retractable undercarriage. The one to watch for is the new Mitsubishi. I’ve never run into one, but the rumor is that it’s very fast, very agile and got wing-mounted cannon.”
There was a pause while the interpreter caught up and got his breath back. Suchart grabbed the opportunity to ask another question. “You think we will fight the Japanese?”
Boyington looked around. He had strict orders not to discuss politics on this delivery flight, but he told himself that this was tactical advice to a fellow fighter pilot, not political at all. “You will. The two biggest guys on the block always end up fighting it out and the Japs will want to take you down before you get big enough to give them a hard time. Only, I’m getting a feeling they may have left it too late. Anyway, you watch their fighters. They love dogfighting. Just dive on them and get away before they can trap you into a turning match.”
“That’s what the German pilot who came here said. Aerobatics are for amateurs. Dive and zoom.”
“Glad to hear it. That’s good advice. Now, the most important thing. Anywhere I can get a drink around here?”
Forward Headquarters, Burapha Payak Corps, Thailand
The maps on the walls showed the developing situation quite clearly. To the Ambassador, it looked like a European fried breakfast. There was a big red circle around Battambang, with the town itself a red blob in the middle. That was the fried egg. North of it was an ellipse stretched out along Route Colonial 157 with a series of designations scrawled in it. That was the sausage. Then, north of that was a series of small red circles that marked the remnants of the French troops north of the Tonle Sap. They would be the hash browns. To the Ambassador, it looked like breakfast; but she knew to the French it was a military disaster in the making.
Six battalions of French infantry and an artillery battalion were cut off and surrounded north of Phoum Preav. Ten more French battalions of infantry, three battalions of artillery and the survivors of an armored battalion were surrounded at Battambang. Only two battalions of infantry were left unbesieged. One was the first battalion of the 5th REI at Siamreap and the other was a Tirailleur Tonkinois battalion at Kompong Thum. Almost half the French forces in Indochina had been either destroyed or had been left with no choice but to surrender. On the other hand, the Ninth Infantry division was wholly tied down at Battambang, along with a regiment of the 11th Infantry and another of the 2nd Cavalry. The rest of the 11th was either spreading out along the Mekong to await the anticipated Japanese thrust or advancing along Route Coloniale 6 to Phnom Penh. South of the Tonle Sap, the rest of 2nd Cavalry was also heading towards Phnom Penh along Route Coloniale 5. She was confident they would get there. After all, there was nothing left to stop them.
“What excuses have the Navy offered us?” Her tone was icy cold; the naval officer waiting to report blanched at hearing it.
“We have lost two torpedo boats and the coastal defense ship Thonburi is grounded off Koh Chang. She’ll be towed back to Bangkok for repair later this afternoon. The French were driven off and they were prevented from bombarding our coastal towns.” Captain Chuan Jitbhatkorn sounded defensive and knew it.
“That’s what happened. I asked why it has happened. Or is there no reason why the Navy has let us down?” The Ambassador’s tones hadn’t warmed in the slightest. In her own mind, she had a reasonable idea of what lay behind the naval losses at Koh Chang. The Army had been rebuilt with young, vigorous officers in command, men who had been selected on merit. The Air Force was recently-formed and had always been that way. The Navy, though, had been aloof from the political disruptions of the previous decade and had not been forced to change as a result. It was still wedded to the old ways. One of them was officers selected by connection and family, not ability. There was a place for soldier-politicians in the armed forces; the Ambassador was well aware of that, since she was one. But a military politician who was also an able military commander was rare. More normally, the two were mutually exclusive.
“We were outgunned and outnumbered. Our ships could not raise steam fast enough. The idea of a coastal defense ship with a few heavy guns is fundamentally flawed; such ships cannot fire effectively on moving targets. For all that, one ship held off five enemy warships for over an hour and saved the rest of the squadron. We lost a battle, tactically; but strategically, we may have won. That will depend on whether the French return or not.” Captain Chuan was angered by the insinuations about the Navy’s conduct and it showed.
“Very well. I have a task for you.” The Ambassador eyed the Captain thoughtfully. He’d fought back when attacked; that meant he could be the sort of young, intelligent officer she sought out. Let’s give him a job to find out.
“You are charged with interviewing all the survivors of the action and making out a list of lessons learned and actions recommended. If our naval policies are wrong, say so. If our present ships are useless, say that too.”
Her voice softened. “There is no shame in losing a battle, Captain. That can happen to anybody. There is much shame in not finding out why the battle was lost and failing to correct those errors. Report back to me with the reasons why Koh Chang did not go as we desired and solutions for the problems so revealed. And remember. If anybody tries to prevent you from giving me your honest opinions, place them firmly out of your way. I have no wish to be told what I want to hear. Nobody has ever suffered at my hands for telling me the truth.” Chuan glanced around and noted that several of the Army officers were nodding absent-mindedly.
A communications officer rushed in waving a message. “Highness, a message from the Foreign Ministry in Bangkok. The Japanese Ambassador has delivered a note to ourselves, and apparently to the French, offering to mediate an end to this war. The terms they dictate are attached.”
“And what is the reaction in the Government so far?” The Ambassador spoke reflectively while she read the terms of the Japanese ultimatum. They were better-suited to her purpose than she could dream possible.
“Marshal Plaek wants to throw the Japanese Ambassador down a well and asks your permission to do it.”
The Ambassador snorted. “This is not Sparta. I will compose a suitable reply for the Japanese Ambassador
to send back to Tokyo. However, advise my old friend to pick out a suitable well; just in case.”
Room 208, Munitions Building, Washington, DC, USA
“So, the conclusion so far is that the industrial infrastructure of Germany is such that there are no singularities that we can take out. We define a singularity as a point of failure, the destruction of which will bring war-making capability to a halt and which cannot easily be repaired or replaced. This means that any strategic bombing campaign is going to have to hit a large number of targets to induce the kind of failure we are seeking. The ballbearing industry is a good example, as you will see from Chapter Twenty-Seven of our preliminary report. There are only four ball bearing plants in Germany and their destruction would bring ball bearing production to a halt. In theory, that will destroy German war production. In reality, they can replace ball bearings by roller bearings for many applications and roller bearings can be made anywhere. They can also replace internal production with ball bearings imported from, say, Sweden or Switzerland. Then, of course, there is the question of repairing the factories and there we move into unknown territory.
“The truth is that neither we nor anybody else have any idea what it actually takes to destroy a factory. The British believed that it would take four 250-pound bomb hits to destroy an average factory. Already, the experience available to date shows that this estimate was ludicrously wrong. Probably wrong by several orders of magnitude. We’ve already determined one problem; that is that all the bombs we were planning to use have impact fuzes. They explode immediately on impact and the factories have roofs.”
