Preecha barely had time to compliment his revolver when another
Frenchmen jumped up on top of the logs that provided top cover for the machine gun crew. He was preparing to drop a grenade inside the field bunker. Preecha put another pair of shots into him. Once again, the heavy bullets did their work. The man was thrown off the roof before he could arm his grenade. That was when the Vickers gun started firing again. The stream of brilliant white fireflies caught the attackers in the open and scythed them down.
“Well done Guards-Sergeant.” Guards-Lieutenant Patma had seen the incident and made sure his Sergeant got the public commendation his actions had merited. The impromptu little counter attack had saved one of their machine guns. “That gun’s crew owes you and your men some beer.”
The cheer that met his words was cut by another scream of warning.
“Here they come again.”
This time, the French knew where the machine guns were. Their attack was concentrated on the gun nests. Hand grenades exploded around the impromptu bunkers, sending fragments ricocheting off the logs. The extemporized defenses didn’t stop them all. Preecha heard the screams from inside one of the gun pits as a grenade bounced inside. He ran over to the scene, firing more pistol shots as he want. The gun was knocked out. One man from its crew was dead; another blinded and his face torn open by fragments. The third man had been lucky; he must have been shielded from the fragments by the bulk of the gun. His arm was pouring blood, but he would live.
The same fragments had knocked the gun off its tripod and lacerated the water cooling jacket. A quick glance showed Preecha that the French were closing in fast. He grabbed the heavy gun; the hot barrel burned his arm as he did so. He remounted it just in time to pour a long burst into the French. The charge on the position broke and the men were driven back into the cover of the treeline.
Preecha looked along the line. Mostly, it was holding. One section had started to fall back from the fire of light machine guns that had been concentrated on them. He picked up his machine gun and lifted it up on to the logs that surrounded its pit. That way, he could fire along the line of the defense and enfilade the attackers. The white flashes of bullets around him seemed to intensify. He ignored them and squeezed the trigger on the Vickers gun. It was so hot the barrel was beginning to glow. His long burst plowed into the source of the light machine gun fire and silenced the enemy guns.
Protected from the galling fire, the corporal in charge of the section led his men back up to their original positions.
“Guards-Sergeant, get ready to move our men out.” GuardsLieutenant Patma had appeared, apparently from nowhere. “Fourth Company has set up a defense line to our rear. Major Anansong is assembling a force from First and Second Companies to extend our left. The enemy are moving armored cars up.”
The lieutenant moved away, passing the word to the rest of his platoon. Preecha took the opportunity to look around the scene of the fighting. To his surprise, the sun was already rising. He could see the carnage in front of the battalion positions. There were dozens of dead and wounded scattered in front of the Thai defense line. Their horizon blue uniforms were mixed in with a much smaller number of figures in the dark green of the Thai infantry. Preecha shook his head, then gathered his men together. As he did so, there was a howl overhead and a series of explosions in the French positions in front of them. The regimental artillery was covering the withdrawal of the two companies that had held this section of the line.
Preecha’s men abandoned their positions under cover of the artillery fire and dropped back. As they passed through the new defense line, he saw that the company here had properly-built field fortifications. Slit trenches and proper dugouts. Preecha’s men had bought them the time they had needed to set their defense up properly and it showed.
By the time he and his men had reached their new positions, the sun had risen. Preecha could see what was going on. The Guardsmen had won the race and were spreading out into defensive positions. The scene was a small hamlet, just a few wooden houses and a road junction. Guards-Lieutenant Patma had his map out and called Preecha over.
“We’re here; junction of RC-157 and RC-160. We’ve had word that the French are moving their armor up along RC-157. At least six AM-50 armored cars and six FT-17 tanks. All from the French DMC. Plus two understrength infantry companies. My orders are to stop them here and drive them back. Major Anansong is in charge of us, while Major Wuthi has the remainder of the battalion in our old positions. Get the men into position, Guard-Sergeant; this looks like a hard fight.”
Once again, it was a matter of building field entrenchments with whatever happened to be at hand. Mostly, that meant wood torn from the huts constituting the hamlets. The four remaining Vickers guns were the main priority. Preecha already knew they would be the backbone of the defense here. Around them, men who had entrenching tools were digging rifle pits, while the less fortunate were using their helmets in a determined effort to create at least some cover. Whatever they managed to dig by the time the French arrived was all they would have.
The first to arrive were a trio of motorcylists. Their machines were fitted with sidecars that carried a single light machine gun. Preecha actually felt sorry for the one in the lead. He was cut down by rifle fire before he realized that he was under attack. The other two crews abandoned their machines. They took cover in the ditch by the side of the road and tried to return fire. The platoon Lewis gunners started to exchange bursts with the French crews. Give a child a new game and they’ll be happy for hours, Preecha thought indulgently.
The armored cars that turned the battle serious. There were indeed six of them. They had spread out into a line, taking advantage of the open ground before it closed in. They had the old, very short-barreled, 37mm gun, firing a one-kilogram shell at no velocity to speak of. Yet they were deadly enough as a fire support weapon.
The armored car crews spotted where the Lewis guns were firing from and started to fire on those positions. The AM50 armored cars leapfrogged forward in pairs; one pair moving, one pairing firing, the third pair spotting for targets. The equipment might be old and obsolete, but the crews knew what they were doing and were closing in on the Thai positions. Preecha looked at the Vickers gun crew closest to him. They were holding fire, ostensibly not to give their positions away needlessly, but really to ensure than the AM50s closed in as much as possible. The machine guns had a short belt of 100 rounds loaded. The bullets on each belt had solid black tips; armorpiercing ammunition. At 500 meters, those bullets would penetrate 12mm of steel. The armor on the AM50 was only 7mm thick.
He heard the nearest machine gun chatter and saw the brilliant flashes as the steel-cored rounds hit the front of the AM50. Some ricocheted off the sloping steel plates that protected the radiator. Others must have penetrated, for a cloud of white steam enveloped the front of the armored car. It swerved to a stop beside the road and stayed there, immobile in its cloud of white fog.
Another AM50 wasn’t so lucky. The Vickers gun caught it at an angle. The armorpiercing bullets penetrated its fuel tank. The armored car caught fire, sending a column of black smoke into the sky.
What happened next was something Preecha had never seen before.
The stricken vehicle exploded as fuel and ammunition were ignited by the fire. It went up in a single blast that sent debris and white trails of smoke in all directions. What had been a recognizable vehicle was reduced to a blazing hulk.