A Mighty Endeavor (53 page)
“May I come with you?” Hull was shocked by the news.
If what I have just been told is true, it puts an entirely new slant on the whole situation. This is what the Japanese are doing in China.
The Ambassador hesitated, slightly confused by the sudden change in events. She had been expecting a French-inspired incident, ever since Hull had sent his diplomatic message to Hanoi a week earlier. She had not expected a bombing raid on Christmas Day. Once again, she marvelled at the way the French authorities appeared to be cooperating with their own destruction. “I think so. I’ll have to arrange fighter escort for the transport aircraft, if you are on board.”
She picked up the telephone again and dialled a number; speaking quickly once the receiver had been lifted at the other end. Listening, Hull caught the change in her voice. The polite, deferential tone was dropped and orders were snapped out. He had noticed this before with Thai women; once, in a very rare while, their mask of polite deference dropped and they gave orders that were to be obeyed. Things were not as they seemed on the surface; Hull was the happier for knowing that.
“There will be a Boeing 247 waiting for us at Don Muang. It is being loaded with emergency medical supplies for Aranyaprathet. The seats are being taken out so it can carry more. We will have to sit on the boxes. I hope that is all right? Also, our elite fighter squadron, FKP60, is getting three of its Hawk 75 fighters flown here to escort us, as soon as they can get the pilots in from their leave. We will depart as soon as they arrive.
“Sitting on the boxes will be fine, Madam.” Hull hesitated. “May I use the telephone, please? I wish to call our Consulate and arrange for the United States to donate some additional aid to the victims at Aranyaprathet.”
Suriyothai nodded. “That is a very kind gesture. Mister Secretary. On behalf of my people, I thank you.” Inwardly, Suriyothai felt a fierce glee. One more piece had just fallen into place.
GHQ, Middle East Command, Cairo, Egypt
“Christmas presents, Archie.” Maitland Wilson had a beaming smile on his face. “Lots of Christmas presents.”
“Do tell, Jumbo. What have we got?”
“Well, from 6th Australian we have Bardia. The Italian garrison capitulated last night. According to Division, they’ve captured seven acres of officers and 22 acres of other ranks. We’re pushing 200,000 prisoners now; how we’re going to feed them all, I don’t know. Then, we have a nice package from 7th Armoured Division. They have surrounded Tobruk, while their flying column has seized Beda Fomm. The whole of the Italian North African Army is now surrounded in Cyrenaica with their ports of supply either captured or under siege.
“Let’s see, what else have we? Oh yes, Andy Cunningham has reported in. The Navy really did give the Italians a trousering in the Strait of Otranto. Sank a battleship, four cruisers and five destroyers, with another battleship and two more destroyers badly hurt. We lost a destroyer and three aircraft, with a cruiser and another destroyer in a bad way. The Italian convoy got scuppered; at least a dozen merchant ships sunk and more damaged. Bill Slim’s Indians have broken through at Keren and are advancing quickly on Asmara. We’ll have Eritrea wrapped up in a day or so. Ethiopia? Well, the South Africans are advancing on Addis Abeba from the south and the Indians from the north. We’re expecting one or both to get there in a day or so. Kenya is cleared; all the Somalilands are occupied. It’s a clean sweep, Archie. In two weeks, we’ve pretty much destroyed the Italian position in North and East Africa.”
Wavell stood and stared at the map on the wall of his office, a great sense of relief pervading his soul. The tremendous gamble he had taken had paid off. Egypt was secure. That meant the Noth Plan had taken a serious blow, with its southern supporting thrust neutralized. After losses like the ones the Italian Army had taken, they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a long time.
“I got a message from London, Jumbo. Very impolite one, as it happens. According to London, all our operations here are in defiance of their specific orders and contravene common sense.”
“Well, Archie, we can’t really disagree with the first part and Operation Compass in particular does look insane, unless one realizes that only armored and motorized units matter in desert warfare. So I would say That Man has a point, so far.” Maitland Wilson beamed owlishly at Wavell.
“Perhaps, Jumbo; perhaps. But he demands we cease operations immediately before, and I quote, ‘you are sent running like rats.’ End of quote. It looks like the final break with London is very near.”
“Rats, eh. That explains something; the contents of that telegram must have leaked out. Have you seen the new insignia for aircraft?” Wavell shook his head. Maitland Wilson produced a series of pictures.
“Basically, the Commonwealth nations have agreed on new markings for our aircraft. We’re all keeping the traditional blue, white and red roundel, but replacing the red dot in the middle with a stylized red symbol for each nation. A maple leaf for Canada, a gazelle for South Africa, a kangaroo for Australia, a kiwi for New Zealand, a Chakra for India and so on. And, for us ..
“
Maitland Wilson held up the picture. “A jerboa. We’re now officially the Desert Rats.”
Sululta, North of Addis Abeba, Ethiopia, Christmas Day, 1940
“There is a motorized column approaching.” Subedar Shabeg Singh spoke thoughtfully. “I might suspect it was Italian, since Sululta is of critical importance, but I might also think that care is of the highest importance here. We are drawn to Sululta for the same reasons that the Italians would wish to defend it, but those same reasons again will draw the South Africans here.”
4th Battalion of the 11th Sikh Regiment was on a small hill, just over a mile from the town. The position towered some 200 feet over the surrounding terrain; it gave a panoramic view of the countryside. That view showed why Sululta was so important. The town was built around a five-way crossroads and had two independent sources of water. It also occupied a pass through the low mountain ridges that ran across the terrain. A combined pass, water source and communications center; that made it a worthy prize.
“What do you think we should do now, Shabeg?” Major Joel Hamby was looking at the column with interest.
“I am thinking that this is a good time to let the situation mature. If the column is hostile, it may well stop in the town. That would give us only one target to attack. If it does not stop in the town, waiting will bring it in closer to us and make our initial attack more effective. If it is friendly, it will
occupy the town with some fighting and save us the trouble. All the ways I
think of this, I see only benefit from waiting and none from pressing the issue.”
“I agree.” Hamby nodded. “To let the situation mature is the best decision. It nearly always is. The column has lorries and armored cars. Four-wheeled armored cars.”
“I think that makes it likely to be South African. The Italians would have those little tankettes. But it is still better to allow the situation to mature. Perhaps it might be in order to alert the men, so that we can move to the aid of the South Africans if they run into trouble down there.” Singh looked again. “I am certain those are Morris armored cars.”
“I think you’re right. I’d say that column is going to attack the encampment, wouldn’t you?”
No reply was necessary. The lorries and armored cars were already spreading out south of the tree-shrouded encampment that dominated the southern approach to Sululta. It was hard to make out the exact details of what was happening due to the dust and heat shimmer, but Singh could imagine the infantry leaving their lorries and spreading out to attack the position. The only thing that puzzled him was why they were taking so long about it. The answer to that question was quickly forthcoming; the drone of aircraft engines.
Six Blenheims skimmed over the ridge to the south of Sululta and made straight for the encampment. The attack had obviously been carefully planned. The pattern of bombs exploded all over the presumably Italian position. It vanished in a cloud of dirt and smoke. One or two of the bombs had overshot the position and exploded in the housing areas beyond. Measured against the vast expanse of Africa, the little hundred-pounders seemed to be insignificant. Singh doubted the recipients felt that way about them.
The South Africans started to move forward as soon as the bombs fell. Their armored cars snapped out bursts from their machine guns and rounds from their Boys Rifles. Singh was so busy watching the attack in progress, he forgot about the Blenheims. Hamby discretely drew his attention back to one of them; one that was circling the position of the 11th Sikhs on the hill.
“I suspect a recognition flare might be in order right now, old chap. Red then blue.”
Singh got out the flare gun, checked the cartridge was of the correct type and then loaded it into the flare gun. The Blenheim overhead had reached the end of its run. It turned back to inspect the troops in more detail. The flare arched upwards, at first brilliant red, then turning to a dark blue. It was hard to see against the sky, so he loaded and fired a second flare. The Blenheim pilot was obviously confused. He circled the hilltop. Singh was about to fire a third flare when Hamby put his hand over the flaregun.
“I wouldn’t do that. He can’t see the blue flare against the sky and he’s only got the red part to go by. I bet he’s not sure whether it is a recognition flare or tracer fire from the ground. The more flares we put up, the more likely it is he’ll decide they are tracers.”
“I am thinking the man who decided on blue flares was a fatherless fool.” Singh watched the Blenheim make another circuit of his position.
“I am thinking you are right.”
Overhead the Blenheim straightened out. The pilot waggled his wings before heading south. Hamby and Singh breathed a sigh of relief. They took a look at the scene down by the encampment. While they had been dealing with the suspicious Blenheim, the Italians had surrendered. The South Africans were occupying the encampment and spreading into the town.
“We had better go down there and introduce ourselves.”
A few minutes later, the leading section of the Sikh battalion was driving into Sululta. The South Africans had their vehicles parked in the shade. That left the Sikhs to park theirs on the sunny side of the street. Singh and Hamby got out and walked over to the South Africans, who were relaxing. As soon as they approached, the relaxed attitude vanished. One South African jumped to his feet and saluted smartly.
“Sir, Sergeant Dirk Klaas, Natal Mounted Rifles. Welcome to Sululta. The crabs warned us you were coming.
“Crabs?” Singh asked quietly.
“Royal Air Force.” Hamby replied equally quietly. “Major Hamby and Subadar Singh, 4th Battalion, 11th Sikhs. My compliments on a well-executed attack, Sergeant; we were watching from the hill.”
“The Italians aren’t resisting too much, sir. They’re afraid if they drive us back, the kaffir irregulars will get them.” Klaas realized what he had said and flushed slightly. “Sorry, sir. But the Italians are deathly afraid of the irregulars. We’ve seen a couple of them who’d been taken prisoner by the . . . irregulars. What was left, it didn’t look human. Poor bastards had been skinned alive and that was just the
start
of it. We shot them; only merciful thing to do.”
“When you’re wounded and layin’ on the Afghan Plains.” Singh quoted the line from Kipling. “We know what you mean, Sergeant. I am thinking, who really wants this place?”
Market Place, Aranyaprathet, Thailand
The stench of burned wood and charred flesh surrounded the party as they left the trucks that had brought them in from the airfield. The market place had been devastated. Smoke from the explosions mingled with the smell of explosives. What made the sight worse were the remains of the decorations; colored paper streamers still fluttered in the wreckage. Cordell Hull had seen the effects of bombing raids on cities before, first in Spain and then in China, but the Christmas decorations were a heartbreaking touch he had not expected.
Troops moved slowly through the wreckage, trying to find survivors in the shattered ruins of market stalls and food stands.
“We have had word from Nakhon Phanom.”
The Ambassador was standing in the shade, watching the troops at work. “Four Potez bombers hit our market place there with three tons of bombs. There is no doubt in my mind that this was a deliberate attack on our civilians. This, here, might have been an accident. Two such attacks, no. They knew our families would be gathered here today.”
“How many?” That was all Hull was able to say, but The Ambassador understood him.
“So far, six dead, forty wounded. Some of those have lost arms and legs. In Nakhon Phanom, only two dead, but about thirty wounded. We are lucky there was no fire here.”
Hull nodded. He picked his way to the center of the market square. He could hear crying and whimpering from the wreckage and hurried to help shift some of the debris. A market stand had collapsed, but the wreckage had formed a triangle. The victims were in the safe zone. A soldier grabbed the other end of a wooden beam and helped Hull get it clear. There were two young children beside the stand; dirty, terrified but unhurt. They blinked in the afternoon sun, then saw the elderly European who had rescued them. Almost by instinct, they made deep wais to their saviors. The boy placed a hand on the back of his younger sister, helping her bow to the correct depth for their relative status. Hull carefully returned the gesture. His throat seized up and his eyes started to moisten as the soldier led them away.
He cleared his throat and turned to The Ambassador. “There were no anti-aircraft guns here, no fighters?”
“Anti-aircraft guns? No. Why should there be? This is a harmless market town. As for fighters, this is too close to the border. If they were based here, they would be caught on the ground by any attack. They are based further inland. Hawk IIIs. Our version of your BF2C. They were too slow to get here. The bombers had gone.” She looked at Hull curiously, seeing the tears trickling down his cheeks.
It is time to tread very, very gently.
“If you had faster fighters, they could have reached here?” Hull was having difficulty speaking.
“Probably not.” The Ambassador spoke carefully.
If he feels too much guilt, he will become defensive and self justifying.
“Aranyaprathet is too close to the border to be defended. That is why the French insisted the border be where it is; so that our towns could be held hostage. This is not your fault, Mister Secretary. It is the French authorities in Hanoi who ordered this raid and the one at Nakhon Phanom. We were lucky that the casualties were so few.”
Hull looked again and the shattered market. A woman sat in one corner, rocking backwards and forwards while she wept. He didn’t need to speak Thai to understand what she was moaning. Her husband was one of the six dead. Now she didn’t know what to do next. For her, the casualties were not few; nor had the day been lucky.
“They weren’t so few for her”
He was about to go to comfort her when he felt the Ambassador’s hand on his arm. “No, Mister Secretary. Pay attention to her now, and she is too stricken with her grief to show you proper respect. Later, that memory will shame her. Leave her to her family; they will look after her. If you wish, you can see her in a day or so when the family will be ready to receive guests.”
“I must return home. I have already been away too long.” Hull looked around the devastated market place and whispered the next words. “This is like China. And Guernica.”
The Ambassador stamped down her doubts over whether Guernica had actually been bombed the way the story said and put on her best sincerely-grave expression. “The Vichy authorities are allies of the Germans and the Hanoi administration is aligned with the Japanese. Is this so surprising? Or is it so surprising we consider all those people to be our enemies?”
Hull shook his head, convincing himself that the wetness on his cheeks was the result of the smoke and smell irritating his eyes. “Madam Ambassador. I will be candid. I do not like your military government and I do not like the way that government rules this country. But, I am convinced that this country has the ability and the desire to change and outgrow its present system. You have convinced me that your government shares that desire to grow and mature. Put together a list of the equipment your country needs to defend itself. It will be supplied. And do what you must to make sure this kind of atrocity does not happen again.”
Comando Supremo, Regio Esercito, Rome, Italy
“The situation in North Africa is a catastrophe.”
General Badoglio stared at the map that dominated the room, trying to absorb the speed and extent to which the situation had suddenly become dreadful. Almost 200,000 Italian soldiers had already either been taken prisoner or had been cut off in Cyrenaica. The only options for the latter were to break out or be added to the total number of Italians sitting in prisoner of war camps.
“The only reason why the situation in East Africa is less catastrophic is that we had fewer forces out there to lose. Ethiopia is gone. Somaliland is gone. Eritrea is gone. Italian East Africa no longer exists, except as a few scattered forces and isolated outposts. But for all that, North Africa is still the main disaster.”
“We have received more approaches from the Halifax government in London, Duce. They are offering us a cease-fire and a return to pre-war borders in exchange for a non-aggression pact.” Count Gian Galeazzo Ciano looked across at the room. “This would be a very satisfactory ending for us, were the offer to be of even the slightest importance.”
“It is another
ruse de guerre
?” Badoglio was mildly amused by the idea of the Halifax government actually doing something effective.
Ciano thought carefully. He owed his position to having married Il Duce’s daughter Edda, but that didn’t change the fact he was an astute and skillful diplomat. “I do not believe Halifax’s messages are a
ruse de guerre.
I believe they are sincerely meant and reflected the perceptions of the situation as seen from London. I now believe that those perceptions are wholly mistaken. There are, in effect, two British governments. There is the Halifax government in London and the Churchill government in Ottawa. The question, to which we must find an answer, is to
which
of these governments do the British forces in Egypt owe allegience? To answer that, we must look at their actions. We see they have ignored every message that comes out of London and gone their own way. So they obviously do not regard Halifax as being their head of state.”
“So they have transferred their allegience to Churchill.” Badoglio thought about that for a moment. “What is the position there?”
“I’m not so sure they have.” Ciano seemed almost in despair.
I’m a diplomat and I have nobody to diplome with. I’m ready to lie, cheat and steal with the best of them but I can’t find anybody to do it with. A lifetime of preparing for this job and nobody will play with me. It really is too bad.
“As far as I can work out, General Wavell is taking his orders very literally. His job is to defend the Suez Canal and I think he believes he has to do that until the situation between Halifax and Churchill is resolved. He is defending the Canal so effectively that he’ll be in Tripoli by the end of January, unless we are really careful.”