The
Tirailleurs Tonkinois
battalion defending the treeline gave its position away by firing far too early. The patter of rifle fire was largely ineffective, although it did cause the advancing Thai infantry to go to ground. Mongkut heard a hammering noise; the platoon Lewis gun opened fire to cover the first step in a leapfrog advance.
“Hold positions.” Lieutenant Somchai snapped an order out. “The dive bombers are coming in. We’ll attack as soon as they’ve finished.”
The word was obviously spreading along the line. The sounds of firing died down to a few isolated shots. Mongkut got a feeling than the enemy battalion was probably congratulating itself for having stopped the attack. If so, they were in for an ugly disappointment. He could already hear the sound of aircraft engines overhead. A quick look upwards showed two flights, each of three Vought Corsair biplanes, overhead.
They peeled over into their dives. The sound that erupted was an earsplitting cacophony of sheer terror. In addition to the scream of their engines, the Corsairs had sirens mounted on their fixed undercarriages. The trick was one they had learned from their German instructors; they placed considerable emphasis on just how demoralizing it was to those on the receiving end. The wailing noise reminded Mongkut of the ghosts that inhabited an old ruined temple near where he had grown up. The volume of the shrieking howls was so great it made him want to flee. He hugged the ground and forced himself to wait for the bombing to end.
The ground shuddered as the first explosions tore into the French positions. Mongkut felt a smack on his back and looked up. Lieutenant Somchai already on his feet and running towards the ripple of explosions that marked the
Tonkinois
defenses. Mongkut couldn’t allow him to go alone; he rose to his feet and followed. Behind him, the rest of his platoon did the same. The unit sprinted across the ground towards where the 50-kilogram bombs were still landing. Clods of earth, sticks and fragments of metal were still flying as they closed in on their enemy.
The
Tonkinois
riflemen were stunned, incapable of resistance. Only a few seconds, a minute or so at most, marked the gap between the dive bombers finishing their work and the Thai infantry leaping the barriers and engaging the defenders. Miongkut saw the blue-clad
Tonkinois
throw down their rifles and hold up their hands in surrender. Some tried to run away. They were shot or bayoneted as they left their rifle pits. Others were on the ground, crying out for mercy as they writhed with the wounds from the bombing. Then there were those who were on the ground and would never move again. Between the dead, the wounded and the prisoners, the 4th Battalion of the
Tirailleurs Tonkinois
had completely collapsed as a fighting force.
Forward Headquarters, Burapha Payak Corps, Thailand
“First reports in, Highness. A battalion of the First Regiment, 11th Infantry Division has engaged a battalion force of the Tirailleurs Tonkinois. The air support techniques Wing Commander Fuen devised have worked very well. The enemy battalion collapsed with only nominal resistance. They have taken over 250 prisoners and four guns. Our casualties were three dead and eleven wounded. Very little resistance in Laos. We have already captured Pakse and the battalion assigned there is spreading out along the Mekong. Ninth Infantry Division is advancing with tank support along RC157 towards Battambang. They took Poipet without any opposition but they report French skirmishing is increasing.”
“Keep those troops under control. We need the French to come forward to meet them, not retreat away from them.” Suriyothai’s voice was sharp and decisive. One regiment of the 9th Infantry was advancing along the Battambang road but it was little more that bait to draw the French Indochina Army into a catastrophic encirclement. Their job was entirely different from that of 11th Infantry. The Queen’s Cobra Division had to sweep forward as fast as possible to secure the northern flank of the advance. The Black Panther Division had to advance slowly to lure the French forward.
“The commanders know that, Highness, and are gauging their actions accordingly.” Suriyothai’s aide swallowed slightly at the near-rebuke he had delivered. On being appointed to the position, he had been warned that the one unforgivable sin was to tell the Princess what he thought she wanted to hear. What she actually wanted was the truth and nothing else.
“In the air, our pilots report destroying 17 aircraft on the ground and three in the air. The latter were all MS 406s shot down by our Hawk 75s. We lost three aircraft; all Hawk IIIs. Every aircraft we have is hard at work, either supporting the Army or hunting the French fighters. Except the dive bombers of Foong Kap Lai 72. They found a French sloop moving towards Trat. They bombed it, leaving it burning and dead in the water. We believe the French are planning bombardments of our coastal towns.”
“We cannot allow that.” Suriyothai looked at the map pinned up on one wall of the headquarters. “What does the Navy say about this?”
“They have promised to move a squadron down to the anchorage at Koh Chang. A coastal defense ship and four torpedo boats. They believe that will deter any further French naval enterprises.”
“I hope so. It doesn’t matter too much, though. This war will be decided on the ground and in the air. French bombardments will kill civilians; that is all. Has the Foreign Office had any official word from anybody yet?”
“No, Highness. Although it is still very early for an official response. The French authorities in Hanoi have formally declared war on us though.”
Suriyothai frowned slightly. “I’m not sure they can do that. The central government in Vichy can certainly can, but we have heard nothing from them?”
“Nothing, Highness. But Field Marshal Wavell agreed a cease-fire and peace treaty with the Italians just a few days ago. He has even less standing than Hanoi.”
“No.” Suriyothai was decisive on that point. “Wavell was acting as an Indian Army officer, not a British Army officer, and his orders from Calcutta were very clear. India had declared itself fully independent and was acting as a separate country. Hanoi has not made that declaration and it is still a French colony. They do not have the authority to declare war on anybody. I think they may have just played into our hands again.”
Suriyothai waved and the officer left her alone. Once again her mind shifted into gear. The waterfall display of swirling colored lights formed. The strands interlocked and merged, only to split apart again as the events that drove them eddied and swirled. The thread that she had first recognized only six months ago was now pulsing brighter and more strongly than it had ever done before. She looked at it, evaluated it and carefully weighed its progress. Now, it dominated all the others; to the point where it had mass and momentum all of its own. As long as this war went well, it was the primary thread of the future at last.
“As long as this war goes well.”
Suriyothai spoke the words aloud. Everything that she had to achieve, economic, political, military, social, came down to that one requirement. This war had to go well.
Room 208, Munitions Building, Washington, DC, USA
“Phillip, what do your business contacts make of this war?”
Henry Stimson was reading the initial reports on the fighting with some interest. True to form, the only really accurate reports so far were in the Singapore-based
Straits Times.
“There’s very little reliable information in the public domain, of course.” Stuyvesant was speaking carefully. “But the consensus is that the recent bombing attacks on Thai border cities finally pushed the Thais too far, and they want to secure their population against further attacks. Of course, there’s the matter of exactly where the border really runs. The French established the current border in 1907, literally at gunpoint. The Thais, many of them anyway, regard that as an unresolved question. However, in a strange way, that is probably only a side issue. The real conundrum here is where the French authorities in Hanoi stand.”
“Hanoi has declared war on Thailand.” Cordell Hull sounded uncharacteristically uncertain of himself. “After their bombing attacks while I was there, that would seem hardly necessary. It seems to me that Hanoi has been spoiling for a fight.”
“Most of the business people I have spoken to agree with that.” Stuyvesant thought for a second before continuing. “Ever since the Japanese seized key positions across northern Indochina last year, the actions of the authorities in Hanoi have confused everybody. They seem to be determined to provoke a major conflict in the region, despite the fact that they are at a serious disadvantage without support from metropolitan France. Their policies do not appear to be aligned with their interests. In fact, the only people who can benefit from their actions are the Japanese. We know the Japanese see Indochina as a secure basing area for a possible assault on the rest of South East Asia.”
“The French start a war in Indochina; the Japanese move in as peacemakers and reinforce their position across the whole area.” Stimson nodded, his mind running across the permutations. “That makes sense. Are the Hanoi authorities that much of Japanese puppets, though?”
“With a whole Japanese infantry division sitting around Hanoi, do they have a choice? I think it is very significant that this declaration of war came from Hanoi, not Vichy. After all, the only difference between Hanoi and Vichy is ..
“One Japanese infantry division sitting around the former.” Stuyvesant finished off the thought, causing Hull to smile for the first time since he had returned from Thailand. “I agree. The actions of the French authorities in Hanoi are obviously quite distinct from those of the Vichy government in France and we must presume that they are being dictated by the Japanese. That would make Hanoi a Japanese ally, albeit probably an unwilling one.”
And that, Suriyothai, honey, is as far as I am going to go. You’re on your own from now on.
General Marshall reached out and tapped a map of the area. “This is where the battle will take place. The French will have to assemble their forces and that puts the fighting near Battambang. This village is where the north-south road, RC-160, crosses the east-west road RC-157. It’s on the banks of a river that gives the French a good defensive position. That’s where the French will hold. The village of Yang Dham Khung.”
Infantry Platoon, Second Battalion, 16e
Regiment d’Infanterie Coloniale,
Phoum Kham Reng, French Indochina
The low ridge gave the roadblock at least some warning of the enemy approach. Lieutenant Jourdain Roul had positioned the block just behind the ridgeline so that it would be protected from direct fire. Pickets on the ridge line itself had a good line of vision that stretched all the way back to the hills on the Thai border. Given how little warning he had received of the attack now obviously in progress, it was the best he could do. Very soon, his work would be put to the test. He had been hearing sporadic rifle and machine gun fire all morning, getting steadily closer to his position.
The Third Battalion,
Tirailleurs Tonkinois
aren’t holding the border the way they were supposed to. If that’s true all over, then we have some serious problems.
Roul’s briefing had been brief but to-the-point. The Thais had invaded Indochina and were advancing down Route Colonial 157 to Battambang. They had to be stopped. That meant the forces in the area had to be assembled into a proper military formation. Doing that required time. Roul’s platoon was to block the road and delay the Thais to buy that time. The briefing had been short; as far as Roul was concerned, the only important word in it was the one that hadn’t been said. Sacrifice. He and his men were being sacrificed to buy time.
He scanned the ground in front of him with his binoculars. He had expected to see the Thai infantry swarming forward, but the swathe of relatively low-laying ground seemed deserted. They had to be there, though. The sounds of gunfire were proof of that. RC-157 was lined with small huts, the homes of local farmers. Every so often, a flare would go up from one. There was no discernable reason why; although Roul assumed they marked the position of the Thai lead elements. With the quiet drone of the aircraft overhead, it was actually a remarkably peaceful scene. It couldn’t stay that way long. The Thais were advancing; it was their aircraft flying over the battlefield.
Nobody had seen any French aircraft. Rumors were spreading that they had all been destroyed on the ground.
Roul wormed his way back from the observation point and checked the defenses his men were digging. There was a slit trench on either side of the road, exploiting the reverse slope to gain protection from artillery fire. Roul had selected the ground himself, taking full advantage of a small area of bushes to provide a little cover. It was a scarce resource along RC-157. The ground seemed bare and almost desolate, other than the odd patches of crab bush and the occasional stand of trees. Almost a kilometer south of his position was a small stream that ran through a depression. Roul had marked that out as his retreat route. He’d noticed that RC-157 was commanded by higher ground on both sides. He had come to the conclusion that any attempt to retreat along the road would be a disaster. Once his position here was untenable, he would fall back on the stream and use its bed for cover as he retreated to the next holding position. The road actually made a loop and the stream bed lay across the neck of the loop. He had his third squad dug in to protect the dirt track leading to the stream, thus protecting his line of retreat. It was the best he could come up with.
