More throttle, another fuel adjustment and the shadow grew quickly. A big, highwing aircraft with its engines slung underneath the wings. Now Suchart knew where to look. He could see the flames of the exhausts rippling in the darkness. There were two sets per side; that confirmed it. The Farman had four engines, two in each underwing gondola; one at the front and one at the back. The aircraft ahead of him was indeed a Farman 222. The near-impossible chance had taken place.
Suchart continued to close. Now that he had seen his target, he wondered how he could ever have overlooked it. He had a quick moment to think about his angle of attack. The Farman had a single machine gun in the nose, one in a dorsal turret and one in the belly. He settled on coming up from underneath, so that the aircraft’s engines would be exposed.
He sighed slightly, steadying himself. Then he squeezed the upper of the two gun-switches on the control column. That fired his nose .30-cal machine guns. Tracer arched out. The first few passed low. Suchart corrected his aim and walked the burst into the fuselage, then along the wing. As soon as he was hitting in the region of the engines, he pressed the lower firing trigger. He felt the 23mm cannon firing. The heavy recoil caused his Hawk to lurch in ways that the .30s had never done. The effects were immediate and appalling. The whole engine gondola erupted into flame. Brilliant red fire lit up the fuselage. Suchart paused, then fired again.
The fire spread with stunning speed, turning the Farman into a great burning cross in the sky. There was a short burst of fire from one of the gunners, but it was wild. Anyway, Suchart had broken off his attack. There was no need to push it any further. The burning bomber was already heading down, slowly losing altitude and speed. For a moment, he wondered if the pilot was still alive at the controls. Pity for a fellow pilot made him hope that he was not. To be trapped in that inferno was a terrible way to die. The Farman 222 sank, its airframe now outlined as dark lines against the burning fabric of its skin. Then, suddenly, it was all over. The wings crumpled. The wreckage fell from the sky to become a flaming pyre on the ground.
The great flaming cross in the sky made a fitting introduction to his visit. Sir Josiah Crosby looked up at it and imagined what it must be like for the crew of the burning bomber. Those poor, poor men. The thought came out with genuine sympathy. Sir Josiah might have cast his lot in with the Indian government, but the thought of Europeans dying so far from their homes still affected him. The sight was shut off as he went into the headquarters of the Thai Army.
The building seemed very different from his previous visits. The leisurely, almost lazy, atmosphere had gone completely. Now, men in dark green uniforms rushed from place to place with an air of determined urgency.
His escort led him through the corridors, towards an office buried in the depths of the building. He knocked on a featureless, unpainted wooden door, paused for a second, then opened it and ushered Sir Josiah in. The Ambassador Plenipotentiary was inside.
“Ah, Sir Josiah. Thank you for coming at this unspeakable hour. I must leave Bangkok at dawn and return to our forward Army headquarters and this is the only time I have. May I offer you some tea? We have a fine spiced mandarin orange tea, if you prefer?”
“Thank you, Madam Ambassador. Or, should I say Colonel? The orange tea sounds delightful.”
“Whichever form of address makes you most comfortable. You saw we have just shot down one of the French Farman bombers? And our antiaircraft guns hit a Potez 542 over Nakhorn Phanom? So far, the night is going well.”
A maid appeared with a cup and a pot of tea on a tray. She poured for Sir Josiah and then quietly left. He took a sip and delight spread across his face. “This is indeed delicious. I have always reported to London by way of Calcutta; but, with the change in authority, this is no longer the case. I now represent only the interests of India and my actions are determined by the Indian Foreign Office. They have instructed me to tell you that we have received authorization from the United States to transfer some of the aircraft we will be receiving from them to your country, in lieu of the aircraft your Air Force ordered but never received. We have been assured we will be fully compensated by a finance credit for any such aircraft we transfer.”
Suriyothai nodded. She had noted the tiny stress that Sir Josiah had placed on the ‘you’ in his comments. “That is very good news.”
“The Americans took it for granted that we would transfer Hawk 75A-4s; Mohawk IVs, we call them. However, on the advice of our Air Force and its advisors, we have elected to standardize on the Hawk 75 ourselves. The Brewster Buffalos we have received will be needed by the Navy, for our aircraft carrier. But, our share of the Hawk 81s, Tomahawk Is, amounts to 48 aircraft and we will offer all of these to you.
“At our first meeting, you expressed concern about Japanese intentions. We believe that the performance of these aircraft in the Middle East and Africa will give the Japanese pause for thought. In addition, we will also offer you 24 Hawk 75s and the same number of DB-7B aircraft. Our advisors say the latter will make superior intruders and are significantly faster than most Japanese fighters.”
It took all Suriyothai’s self-control to stop her jaw from dropping. An influx of aircraft on this scale would provide all the air defenses her country needed to refuse compliance with any Japanese demands. “Sir Josiah, on behalf of my government, there is little I can do other than express my very great gratitude for this generosity. Obviously, your offer is accepted gladly, with the hope this will mark the start of an enduring friendship between our nations.”
Sir Josiah laughed gently. “It is not so generous as you think. We are giving you the older aircraft ordered by France and Britain more than a year ago. The Americans will be providing us with the latest models in exchange. A year is a long time in war, but I think this exchange benefits everybody involved.”
Suriyothai looked out of the window at where a fire burned across the city. The French counterattack was beginning; all the reports from the front stressed that. The night bombing of the airbases showed that the French were, this time, in real earnest.
A year was indeed a long time in war, but so could be a few hours.
“The report from the reconnaissance aircraft is in. ” Lieutenant Laurent Babineau passed the word through to Captain Toussaint de Quieverecourt. “We are in luck. Both the Thai coast defense ships are in the anchorage.”
To Babineau’s surprise, his Captain seemed decidedly unhappy. One reason was obvious; the blackened area of twisted metal where the ship’s catapult and seaplane had once resided. The other was less tangible.
“Commodore Berenger has sent his orders for the attack. He is forming the fleet into three divisions. La Motte-Picquet will go in east of Koh Wai, while we will take the channel between Koh Wai and Koh Klum with Amiral Charner. Tahure and Marne will take the passage between Koh Klum and the main Koh Chang Island.”
“He’s splitting our force into three groups?” Babineau realized why his Captain was perturbed. “If the Siamese move quickly, they could defeat us in detail. ” Tahure and Marne are weak; they’ve only got a pair of 140mm guns and some 100mms between them. If the Thais are expecting this, they could cut those two ships off and sink them before we could come to their aid.”