A Mighty Endeavor (56 page)

Butler took the opportunity with both hands. “We understand that the Italians asked for German help in resisting the forces commanded by General Wavell. They were refused in a message of unprecedented discourtesy. This makes it clear that Germany regards us as its most important ally in Europe and our position with regard to them is greatly strengthened.”

“We are not an ally of Nazi Germany, Richard, and our interests only temporarily converge with theirs. Great Britain has decided to remain neutral; that is all.”

“My apologies, Prime Minister.”
Am
I
alone in hearing a note of derision in those wordsl
thought Bridges. “I mis-spoke. I did not mean to imply we should consider ourselves an ally of Germany; merely a country with whom Germany maintains friendly relations. However, we must take due note of the fact that the danger of Bolshevism means that our interests and those of Germany may be greater than you suppose.”

Bridges was interested to note that Halifax did not look at all at ease with the line Butler was following. The Prime Minister quickly shifted back towards the subject of Wavell and the status of Middle East Command. “So what do we do about Wavell’s insubordination?”

“Well, Prime Minister, the traditional options are that we recall him for court martial and cashier him, re-assign him to another post of such little importance that he will resign in disgust, ignore him completely or claim all the credit for his achievements and imply his contributions were of little import. He will ignore the first and second, take advantage of the third to further consolidate his position and it is already too late for the fourth. The fact that we, and the rest of the Commonwealth, are on divergent courses puts us in terra incognita here, Prime Minister. Anything we do will establish a precedent. May I suggest that a suitable one would be masterly inactivity?”

“Perhaps, Sir Edward. Please leave us now. The Foreign Secretary and I have party business to discuss.”

That is a reasonable excuse to ask me to withdraw. But why do I not like the expression on Butler’s face?
Sir Edward Bridges backed out of the Cabinet Office and made a thoughtful progress down the stairs to the front door of Number Ten. Two of Butler’s Auxiliaries were on guard, each armed with a Thompson sub-machine gun.
I
wonder how long we will be able to get ammunition for them? It’s been a long time since I had a drink with old Murray. I’ll invite him over one evening, soon.

There was an addition to that thought that Sir Edward Bridges resolutely kept even from himself. Sir Murray Prestcote was a long-retired veteran of the British Army in India. But, he had been very active in keeping in contact with the service and had many friends there. If somebody knew how to warn General Wavell to watch his back, it would be him.

Comando Supremo, Regio Esercito, Rome, Italy, January 14, 1941

“What are the terms of our agreement with the Commonwealth of Nations?”

Graziani, Badoglio, Ciano and the other occupants of the Army supreme command had expected Benito Mussolini to return either screaming with fury or venting bombastic nonsense. Instead, after almost two weeks sequestered in his private apartments, he sounded quiet and uncharacteristically unpretentious. The doctors said he had suffered from a severe stroke and complete nervous prostration.

Had the combination of the two made such a difference to the man’s character?
Ciano thought to himself.
Brought on by catastrophic military defeat and abandonment by our closest ally? That would be enough to dull the spirit of any man. Or restore humility to him.

“Duce, we have secured Libya at its pre-war boundaries and the return of our prisoners of war. The Commonwealth will withdraw from Cyrenaica, but they will retain all the equipment and supplies they have captured. We have agreed to a 20-kilometer wide demilitarized zone on each side of the border; into which no military forces may enter, except by our joint agreement. The Commonwealth has agreed to joint patrols to ensure that these terms are observed. We have had to sacrifice Ethiopia, which has returned to its previous administration. Eritrea and Somaliland will be administered by the Commonwealth of Nations as if they were League of Nations trusts. In summary, we have managed to retain Libya, but at the cost of all our other African possessions.”
Now order me shot. I have done my best for Italy and I will be content with that.

“We kept Libya, but have lost the rest of our North African possessions.” Mussolini paused and took a deep breath. The voice had changed as well; the ringing aggression and bouncing self-confidence were gone
completely. Now there was an almost thoughtful overtone; the tone of a philosopher, rather than a dictator.

“Well, I have decided I am not a collector of deserts. We can bid farewell to possessions that never benefitted us. Now is the time to look forward, not back. Our treatment at the hands of Herr Hitler has shown us that we can only become strong, I feel, when we have no friends upon whom to lean, or to look to for moral guidance. To continue this war would be national suicide. We must never consider the possibility of suicide; national or personal. We must despise and reject it. Rather, we must see these events as a part of life. As Italians, we must accept what life brings us and learn to love it. Our life should be high and full, lived for oneself, but not that above all; for we must also consider others. Those who are at hand and those who are far distant, contemporaries, and those who will come after us; their interests too we must consider.

“We have learned that Italy is not for export by force of arms. Instead, we must build the best and most beautiful Italy we can, and export Italy by those who choose to follow our example.”

There was a long silence as Mussolini’s words echoed around the room. He stood. The havoc the stroke had wrought becoming obvious as he wavered unsteadily on his feet. The left side of his body had been hit worst; his left hand was largely paralysed and he limped on his left leg. The left corner of his mouth was slack and every so often he dabbed at it with a handkerchief. “Galeazzo, you have done well. I commend you. Now, you must ensure that it is understood that Italy will maintain a policy of strict neutrality. We will expend our efforts on improving ourselves and our country. Our watchwords will be ‘All within the state, nothing outside the state, nothing against the state.’ Is this clearly understood? We will be neutral in any future conflict. There will be no more military commitments outside Italy.”

Badoglio could hardly believe the change that was taking place in front of his eyes. If Mussolini was true to his words, this was the Italy he had always wanted. Perhaps the disaster in North and East Africa wasn’t such a disaster after all.
Il Duce may be right, that we must accept what life brings us and learn to love it; for the benefits it bestows may not be immediately obvious and what seems unbearable today may well be the seed of a better tomorrow.
That left just one question in his mind.

“What will Herr Hitler have to say about this?”

“That horrible sexual degenerate? Egli puo vaffanculo e morire come un uomo per una volta.”

Room
208,
Munitions Building, Washington, DC,
USA

“Italy out of the war. The Commonwealth of Nations is off to a good start.” Henry Stimson looked inordinately pleased with himself. The airfields in America were clearing rapidly as the aircraft originally ordered by the French and British were delivered instead to the Commonwealth countries.

“Not economically. India is staggering along from day to day, but Australia and New Zealand are sliding into an economic depression very quickly.” Henry Morgenthau sounded deeply concerned. “They will need some additional help propping up their economies and need it quickly. I suspect New Zealand is beyond saving. I have already heard whispers that the Australians are considering absorbing them as an alternative to seeing them go bankrupt. There was provision for that in their constitution, you know.”

“We must do what we must.” Cordell Hull sounded detached and almost disinterested. “And no more.”

“How did your trip to the Far East go?” Phillip Stuyvesant sounded mildly interested, concealing his real feelings carefully. He wasn’t certain whether Hull’s trip taking so much longer than originally planned was a good or a bad thing.

“I confirmed much that I already believed. The Siamese have a military government and is ruled by a regime supported by the force of arms. I deplore that regime and everything it represents. However, I do believe there is both room and desire for change and we should enable that change to whatever extent we are able. If we aid them, they may well evolve into a country we can support. But, if we do not, they will surely side with our enemies. At the moment, their enemies are our enemies. We must recognize that. I will withdraw my objections to the delivery of armaments to them, conditional upon them making the democratic development we expect.”

Stimson interrupted him. “Cordell, we owe the Thais some aircraft. P-64 fighters and A-27 light bombers. How can we make good on the order?”

“Have we no equivalent aircraft we can give them in lieu?”

Stimson thought. “The A-27s are no problem. Northrop is building the A-24 for the Army. It’s a version of the Navy SBD. The Army doesn’t like it though; they think it’s too slow, underarmed and its range is too short. They won’t miss a couple of dozen for the Thais. For all its problems, it’s actually a better aircraft than the A-27.”

“Fighters; they need fighters. If you’d seen that market place, you wouldn’t be worrying about the bombers.”

Stuyvesant lifted a pencil. “The Indians have more Hawk 75s than they can absorb at this time and they have a more advanced version coming down the pike. Why don’t we suggest they transfer a couple of dozen of their existing aircraft to Thailand and we give them a credit for the value they can use to buy other equipment they need?”

Stimson nodded. “That works for us. Means we keep the hard cash, the Thais get the aircraft and India gets more equipment it needs. You agree, Cordell?”

Hull nodded. “It sounds fair. And it gives us a chance to see if current Siamese words will match their future intentions.”

He focused on his primary target, the guard box. The man in it had
grabbed the telephone. He was banging the handpiece on the desk, apparently
in the belief that doing so would repair the cut wire. There was a short crackle of rifle fire from Mongkut’s group. The glass in the guard box shattered, and he, too, went down. With the border guards neutralized, Mongkut got to his feet and jog-trotted towards the ruins of the border post.

His men worked fast. They took the bodies of the two men outside the post and their corporal from inside it and dragged them to the side of the road. Mongkut quickly checked the bodies, identifying them as members of the 4th
Tirailleurs Tonkinois.
The sun was already rising over the mountains on either side of their road. Behind him, other units of the 11th Division were crossing the border and beginning to push down the road towards Angkrong.

Mongkut’s lieutenant waved. He and his men fell in with the rest of their unit and joined the march south. He had the map he had been shown clearly in his mind. Angkrong was a small rectangular village, but it controlled a vital crossroads; one that opened the way eastwards. Once Angkrong was in their hands, the real advance could start.

Behind Mongkut’s unit, engineers brought up a quartet of elephants. They started the task of destroying the border post and repairing the road that led through it. Their orders were quite simple; they were to erase the border so thoroughly that nobody would ever know it had once existed here.

Hawk 75N Over Thakhek Airfield, French Indochina

Thakhek Airfield was the primary staging post for the attacks on Thai cities over the last six months. The Farman bombers that had carried out the most devastating of the raids were based far back in central Vietnam. That put them out of range of the Thai aircraft; for the moment, at least. But Thakhek was within range and it was a priority target for the Air Force. Other airfields were being attacked as well, but Thakhek was getting the main effort.

The primary strike was the half-dozen Martin 139 bombers; they formed two neat V-formations at 3,000 meters. Their stately progress through the air was marred by a very light scattering of black spots. The anti-aircraft defenses of the base were limited. There were few anti-aircraft guns in French Indochina, and it seemed as if the French believed that they could continue attacking Thailand without any form of reprisal.

Unaccountably, the anti-aircraft fire stopped as the Martins swung into their final bomb run. The export equivalent of the USAAC B-10B, each Martin 139 carried ten 250-pound bombs. Their bombing showed the inexperience of the crews. Most of the sixty bombs the formation dropped were within the airfield boundary, but the explosions were scattered all over the base. From what Flying Officer Suchart Chalermkiat could see, the vital hangars and runways were undamaged. That left taking the airfield out to him and his fellow Hawk 75N pilots.

As the Martins turned away for the flight home, Suchart pushed the nose of his fighter over and started to dive on the base below. Dive bombing was something every Thai pilot practiced. For the last six months, they had done little else but train for dive bombing missions. Even the Hawk III and 75N fighters had not been exempted. They had had to carry out their dive bombing training in addition to their other duties. Foong Kap Lai 60 was supposed to be the elite fighter squadron of the Thai Air Force, but their Hawk 75Ns had flown on this mission with a 250 pound bomb slung under their bellies. If French fighters showed up, they would jettison their bombs and fight. Otherwise, they were dive bombers. So was every other aircraft the Thais had. Even their Avro 504 trainers were carrying bombs today.

Suchart released his bomb. He saw it curve down into the center of one of the hangars. A smooth pull on the control column brought his Hawk out of its dive. He skimmed over the parking area, a few tens of feet over the grass. To his disappointment, there was only one aircraft in easy sight, a Potez 25.
Still, it is a ground attack aircraft and that’s worth taking.
Suchart’s four .30-caliber machine guns raked the old biplane. It burst into flames in front of him.

His flight formed up around him and he turned his nose west for home. Once the bombers that had struck the airfields were safely back at base, the fighters could do what they were supposed to do.

Hunt down and kill the enemy.

Forward Headquarters, Burapha Payak Corps, Thailand

The maps on the walls showed the developing situation quite clearly. The 11th Infantry Division was north of the Tonle Sap, crossing the border into Cambodia and advancing towards the banks of the Mekong River. So far, they hadn’t experienced any serious opposition; just a few scattered patrols and the unfortunate border guards. Further south, two regiments of the 9th Infantry Division pushed along the road to Battambang. They were having a tougher time. Battambang was the headquarters of the French Indochina Army this far south; it was well-placed to organize a proper defense.

That was exactly what Suriyothai hoped they were doing.

“Your Highness, two farang ladies to see you.” General Arthit Kongsampong seemed slightly surprised at the number of women who were descending on the command center of an army corps. Having the corps commanded by a woman was shocking enough, although the whispers about this woman officer were startling indeed. Two farang women turning up as guests was something quite else.

“Send them in.” Suriyothai looked at the map again. The tiny piece of Laos that lay west of the Mekong was already well on its way to being secured by a battalion of infantry. A regiment of the 11th Infantry was moving west to cover its flank. It was a good start.

“Igrat, Achillea; It has been a long time since we met under these circumstances.”

Igrat smiled broadly and made a creditable attempt at a respectful wai. Suriyothai solemnly returned it. Achillea followed Igrat in. She had grease on her blouse and smudges of oil on her nose and cheeks.

“What happened Achillea?”

“A couple of your men were having trouble with a Hotchkiss thirteen-point-two. Headspace adjustment screw had jammed. I fixed it for them. Just poured boiling water over it and that expanded the metal enough to get the screw loose.”

“Ahh, I see.” Suriyothai had no doubt that Achillea was now politely worshipped by the men she had helped. There was something about the combination of Achillea, oil, grease and guns that men found irresistible. “How did you two get up here and what do you want?”

“Hitched a lift on a supply truck headed this way.” Igrat spoke as if cadging lifts on army supply trucks was the most natural thing in the world. To her, it was. “My father has some information for you. He says that Cordell Hull has softened his position and he is prepared to allow the transfer of American-produced arms to Thailand. They will be supplied from India. But, my father cautions, to consolidate this position, you need to do two things. One is to make visible progress towards a democratic form of government. The other is to kick a Japanese unit around very soon. You need to be seen as an enemy of an enemy.”

Suriyothai nodded. Relief flooded through her. The single greatest obstacle to all her plans was crumbling. “I can promise the kicking around as soon as the Japanese move. That will be when they realize how far we will be advancing into Indochina. They will try and intervene with diplomacy; we will turn them down and they will be more forceful. Then we will demonstrate how foolish that approach will be. What will we get from the Indians?”

“Hawk 75 fighters, the latest model, and DB-7 light bombers. And, direct from America, thirty A-24 dive bombers. They are in compensation for the other aircraft you purchased and did not receive. Now, my father asks, can he have details of your plans for this campaign?”

“No.” Suriyothai was absolutely firm on that. “I haven’t even told me what our plans are yet. Now, what else have you got? Phillip wouldn’t send you all this way just for this.”

“Mostly reports on business involvement in this area. Phillip is investing in India especially and he wants you to be aware of what is going on. He has also picked up word that the Hongs are moving to Bangkok and he is curious as to whether you have a hand in this.” Igrat’s voice took on her own pitch and cadence. “He is, of course, being sarcastic when asking that. But he regards stabilizing the economies of the area as being a very high priority. That also reflects U.S. Government policy, although the decisions were not linked. Both he and Secretary Morgenthau came to the same conclusions for the same reasons.”

“How did he hear about the Hongs?” Suriyothai was genuinely curious. She had thought that information was strictly controlled. Igrat didn’t answer and Suriyothai realized she knew, but wasn’t going to say anything. “Alright. Forget I asked. Tell Phillip this. We’re going to destroy the French Army in Indochina. That is already in hand. Think Sedan. We’re moving one division along the northern part of the Mekong now to deal with any Japanese incursion. The Japanese are desperately short of maneuver units and the most they can throw at us is a single division. We can handle that. Everything else is details and subject to change at short notice.

11th Infantry (Queen’s Cobra) Division, Angkrong, Cambodia

Mongkut was quietly proud of both himself and his squad. In fact, of the whole platoon. Ever since they had eliminated the border post, they had been advancing at the double-quick-time: 180 paces to the minute. Six months of training had shown its value. His men chewed up the five kilometers that separated them from Angkrong in less than forty minutes. They’d been helped by geography. The road had snaked around, but after the crest of the ridge had been passed, it had all been downhill.

Looking behind him, Mongkut could see the mountains that delineated the border. In front of him was the flat plain that had so recently been part of Thailand, but had been seized by the French and made part of their Indochina empire. Now, it would be returned to its rightful owners. That thought cheered Mongkut. It offset the rawness in his chest from the prolonged quick-time march.

Angkrong was a basic rectangle of four unsurfaced roads, divided horizontally into upper and lower halves by a fifth. On a map, it looked like a figure-of-eight that had been squashed so it was wider than it was high. The road that Mongkut and his men were following led into the northeast corner of the town, the top right hand corner of the 8. The road that formed the bottom of the eight was the critical one. Once that was seized, Thai infantry could advance east or west, according to their desires. Their seizure of the road would also prevent the French Indochina Army from moving eastwards. It was a key part of the plan to split the French Army apart and dismember each section separately.

Mongkut waved his arm. His men scattered to the right hand side of the road. Behind him, the next squad was going left. The effect was simple. What had been a column of troops advancing down a road was now a line that would assault the village. The orders had been very strict. ‘Remember, not so long ago, these people were our countrymen. Treat them with respect, for they are to be our countrymen again.’

The company had finished deploying for the assault. Mongkut heard the whistles blow. That was the signal for the charge. He broke into a jog-trot. Then, he was in a full run towards the town. It was quiet. No dogs barked or chickens crowed; just the pounding sound of army boots running on hard ground. Mongkut was panting as he reached the first line of huts. They were poor things by the standard of his home village; rotting wooden walls topped by a thatched roof. A piece of tattered cloth substituted for a front door. The obvious poverty made him hate what he had to do next, but the safety of his men depended on it.

He grabbed the cloth and flung it to one side, pushing his way into the hut. There were two women inside; one young and feeding her baby, the other much older.
Probably the young woman’s mother,
Momgkut thought. The young woman screamed and swung away, shielding both herself and her baby from the stranger. Mongkut reacted quickly.

“I am sorry to frighten you. Are there any French soldiers here?”

The young woman showed no sign of understanding. Her mother broke out into a beam of delight at the Thai words. She replied quickly in the same language, the words coarsened from long disuse. “At the other end of the village. There are a few. You have come back?”

Mongkut knew what she meant. “We are back and this time to stay. We will not allow our land to be stolen today. Now, excuse me, Mother; we have much work to be done today.” As he left, a thought occurred to him. “Where are your ducks and chickens?”

“The French did not allow us to keep them. They said we must buy all our meat and eggs from them. All we were allowed to grow was rice.”

Mongkut was shocked.
A village of farmers not allowed to own ducks?
It was unnatural. In the short time he had been checking the hut, a crackle of rifle fire broke out in the far comer of Angkrong. He led his men to the sound of the firing. It was over by the time he had got there. Five men, a corporal and four privates of the 4th
Tirailleurs Tonkinois,
were standing with their hands raised; their Berthier rifles on the ground beside them. None were injured. A quick glance showed Mongkut that none of the Thai troops were hurt either.

“It wasn’t serious.” Mongkut’s sergeant was watching the scene. “They fired a few rounds for honor’s sake, we fired a few to show we were serious and they surrendered.”