The cry went up from along the trenches that marked the position of the platoon on his left. Dieudonné looked at the advancing infantry with a degree of shock. The main attack was coming on his left and was in much greater strength than he had believed possible. There were more than two hundred Thai infantry attacking; perhaps closer to three. They swarmed forward, beginning their descent of the long ridge that had shielded them. Beyond his left, Dieudonné saw another force of infantry, at least equal to the one on the ridge, moving to envelop his flank. There is no way that this force could be anything less than a whole regiment. Any further thoughts along those lines were disrupted by the scream from overhead.
Each Thai Hawk III had peeled over. The aircraft dove on the French positions beneath. The noise of their near-vertical, full-power descent hammered into the brains of the men below. It prevented rational thought and dispelled any attempt to organize a defense. Looking up at the aircraft, each and every man was convinced that the attack was aimed personally at him. The defenses started to break apart. One of the sections of Dieudonné’s heavy machine gun platoon was trained for antiaircraft work. The crews held firm. They sent two streams of tracers skywards. The effort only brought about their destruction. The dive bombers saw where the fire was coming from. The later aircraft to dive used that area as their target. The Hotchkiss machine guns were silenced by a combination of bombing and strafing before they could do any harm.
The biplanes grew as they neared the ground. The snarl of the engines and the howl of the wind through their wings combined to make a deafening roar. The Hawks didn’t carry the additional sirens that were used by the Vought ground attack aircraft, but their effect on the morale of those below them was still devastating. The French infantry couldn’t stand. They were already out of their defenses and running for the rear when the 50-kilogram bombs exploded around them. By the time the air attack was over, Dieudonné’s left flank had collapsed as thoroughly as if it had never been. Now the Thai infantry were into his defenses.
The French fought as they fell back, firing their Berthier rifles from the hip. Officers tried to rally their men and used their pistols on the enemy who was enveloping them. It was fruitless. Some of the French troops rallied and tried to form a defensive line. They were too outnumbered, their tactical coherence already been shattered by the bombing. A few of their shots struck home. A handful of the advancing enemy fell. But the men of the platoon had no chance. They were either shot down while they fought or threw down their weapons and raised their arms.
Dieudonné drew his pistol and fired it until it ran dry, but his position was hopeless. As the green-clad infantrymen surrounded him, he threw his pistol to the ground and raised his hands. Behind him, he saw the positions on his right being rolled up as they were taken in the rear.
“Captain, please ask your men to surrender. You have done all that you can. There is no point in more bloodshed.”
Dieudonné looked at the Thai infantry officer standing in front of him. Again, memories of the First War came back, triggered by the Germanstyle helmet. French intelligence material all said that the Thais used the Fremch Adrian helmet, but it was obviously wrong. He found himself wondering what else he had been told was mistaken.
“Sergeant, we need to get out of here.” Lieutenant Roul gave private thanks that he had been positioned on the extreme end of the line. The dive bombing and artillery fire had been far enough away that his platoon wasn’t too badly affected. It also gave him time to see the platoon on the left dissolve under the ferocious assault and the first of the two platoons on the right of the road break up. His unit was next and he didn’t intend to sit still and let it happen.
“Down the road, quickly.”
The NCOs passed the word and the platoon started to fall back along the road. It was a race. The prize getting clear of the trap they were in before the jaws closed on them. The Thai infantry on the ridgeline to the north extended beyond Roul’s position. Their rifle fire was galling. Roul saw some of his men falling as bullets bit home. Other members of their squads tried to help the wounded back, but the delay meant they too fell from the increasing volume of rifle fire.
“Leave them! Everybody save yourselves. The Siamese will look after the wounded.”
Roul hated himself for giving the order but he realized he had little choice. More Thai infantry were already closing in from the South. It was going to be a very finely cut thing for any of his men would get clear. His order gave no indication about running, but it might as well have. The entire platoon, Roul included, broke into a trot and then into a full run. Roul’s humiliation filled his throat and made him feel sick. He was leading a rout, running away from a battle. What would my father think of me? The thought made tears stream from his eyes.
What was left of the platoon made it to an area of thick scrub and bushes about a kilometer east down RC-157. It wasn’t just that the scrub and bushes provided cover; there was a slight, horse-shoe shaped rise around it that screened him from view. Roul knew he had learned something today. Even a meter rise in the ground could be tactically vital. That one-meter rise saved his platoon from total destruction.
Even so, he looked back on the road and saw the lines of figures in horizon blue that marked the path of his rout. He had started the day with four sergeants, four corporals and 32 privates. Counting the men he had left, he could see private first class Léo Corneille, Sergeant Arsène Ambroise and one or two more.
How many men survived?
“Corporal Frenais; eleven men, sir. Three of them are wounded but can walk.”
It was as if the sergeant can read my mind. So answer me this. What do we do next? “Very good, Sergeant. The Siamese will be clearing the battlefield and that will give us a chance to break away. We must head for Yang Dham Khung. That’s where the main body will be assembling.” Dear God, I started this day with 41 men and now there 14 of us left. And we have achieved nothing.
Roul used his binoculars to watch the Thai infantry back at the position they had just seized. Three Vickers tanks and some trucks joined them. Some of the trucks had red crosses pained on them; stretchers were being placed in them. As one was lifted on, Roul caught a glimpse of horizon blue from the man on it.
Thank God. They are looking after my wounded.
“We badly need those Ki-30s. If we had ordered them as I wished…” Marshal Plaek Pibulsonggram sounded reproachful.
“Politically, the order would have been disastrous. It would have linked us to the Japanese and ruled out any other options. There is more at stake here than just the fighting now in progress.” The Ambassador snapped the reply out. She was tired, despite managing a quick nap while flying down to Bangkok on her private Boeing 247.
“Our pilots are flying five or six missions a day. Because of that, we have already lost a Hawk 75N from a crash. The pilots are very tired. We cannot go on like this.”