That was all the pickets needed. Their job had been to warn the troops holding the high ground off to their left and the lower ridge that marked their center and right of any Japanese assault. That work was done. Now they needed to get back to join the main line of resistance, two kilometers to their rear. An early start, Mongkut thought, would be a good idea at this point.
He led his troops away from the river, slipping through the trees before the Japanese could arrive. To his relief, the Japanese bombardment was limited to the riverbank and treeline. He guessed that the Japanese guns were mostly 75mm weapons, firing on a flat trajectory across the river. That kind of fire was of limited value; the thick groups of trees along the bank stopped the guns firing further inland.
Once his men were away from the bank, they picked up speed as the trees thinned out. Two hundred meters away from the bank, there was a wide belt of open ground; an old farm that had been abandoned too recently for the jungle to reclaim. Mongkut saw another sergeant leading a batch of pickets back from the bank. The sight gave him a distinct feeling of relief. At least I didn’t abandon our positions too early The scattered infantry picked up speed as they jog-trotted back to the main line of resistance along Ridge 70. The last thing any of them wanted was to be caught in the open by the Japanese.
The problem was that everything had to go right.
There were no reserves for this operation. Japanese forces in Indochina were thin on the ground to start with, and this operation had already changed into a full-scale assault. Lieutenant General Akihito Nakamura knew his 5th Motorized Infantry Division was one of the most powerful in the Japanese Army. He had more than 500 trucks to move his supplies and artillery and every man in his unit had a bicycle. That gave them unprecedented mobility, especially where the density of forest precluded the use of trucks to carry his men. He also had a tank battalion, in place of the horse cavalry battalion used by less-favored divisions. That gave him twelve Type 95 Ha-Go light tanks and twenty-four Type 97 Chi-Ha medium tanks. He had enough artillery as welclass="underline" 12 105mm howitzers and 24 75mm guns. With four infantry regiments organized in two brigades, the 5th Motorized was a powerful formation indeed.
There was nothing else. Apart from the 5th Motorized Division, there were two Independent Mixed Brigades in Indochina. The 21st Independent Mixed Brigade was stationed around Hanoi, while the 14th was tasked with consolidating Japanese interests in the South. The latter was technically his reserve formation for this assault, yet it was more than 150 kilometers away. Given the poor road network and virtual absence of railways to the area his division was operating in, he couldn’t expect any support from them. To make matters worse, his promised air support hadn’t shown up either. He had been told that a formation of twelve Ki-32 light bombers escorted by nine Ki-27 fighters had been sent to assist in the assault on the Thai positions, but they hadn’t arrived. It wasn’t good when things like that happened before battle was even properly joined.
He also knew what he was up against. His information was that he was attacking the Thai 11th Infantry Division. That was, according to his intelligence data, a division remarkably similar to his own. It was a square division, with four regiments; the difference was that the Thais didn’t use the intermediate brigade command level. It had trucks to tow its guns and a divisional tank battalion; although that battalion had fewer, weaker tanks than Nakamura could call upon. If both units were Japanese, this would be an even fight. Such fights rarely went well for the attacker. However, Nakamura knew he had the Japanese fighting spirit of his men to rely on. That is worth more than abstract mathematical arguments of numbers and force levels.
“Situation?” he snapped the word out to the divisional intelligence officer. “And where are those aircraft?”
“Sir, 9th Brigade is landing on the other side of the river now. They report little resistance on the riverbank, but both 11th and 41st regiments are taking casualties from enemy artillery fire and air attacks. They report no friendly aircraft over the crossing and say the Siamese are bombing and strafing them without interference.”
“Where are those aircraft?” Nakamura repeated the question with growing impatience.
The reluctance with which the liaison officer with the air units spoke filled Nakamura with apprehension. “Sir, the attack formation we launched was intercepted by at least thirty Hawk 75 fighters. They shot down six Ki-27s and seven Ki-32s and then scattered the rest. Our fighters claim twenty enemy fighters shot down.”
Well, that will be a miracle from the gods themselves, since it’s twice as many Hawk 75s as the Thais have. “Get aircraft up to support our units now.”
“Sir, we have no fighters left operational at this time. The 77th Sentai is bringing its remaining 24 Ki-27s up from Haiphong. They’ll have to land at Pakse to refuel so they won’t be operational for three or four hours at the earliest. Until then, we have only Ki-51 light bombers and a handful of Ki-48 mediums. Without fighter escort, they will be shot down.”
There are no reserves. Once again, the thought passed through Nakamura’s mind. It had the echoes of a temple bell tolling for the souls of the dead. The Thais have air superiority over the battlefield, for a few critical hours at least. But until then, we will have to do without. The Thais have already made one bad mistake. They have refused to fight us at the water’s edge. Instead they have allowed us ashore and let our units establish themselves. They will pay for that.
“Who are you?”
Lieutenant Somchai was expecting many things at this time. One of them was for Japanese tanks to appear out of the woods and advance upon him. Another was to have Japanese infantry to do the same while Japanese artillery rained shells down on his head. What he had not expected was for a farang loaded with cameras to appear in his rear.
“Robert Capa. Photographer for Life magazine. I’ve been told to stay with you and cover the action.”
The man handed over an order from the regimental commander. Somchai smiled politely, while mentally cursing the gods for lumbering him with a civilian just before a major battle. “You are most welcome, Khun Robert. You will be leaving before the fighting starts?”
Capa had a local interpreter with him, a member of Life’s local bureau, who translated the question and relayed the photographer’s response. “I could hardly cover the action if I did that, could I? Do not worry, Lieutenant. I covered the Spanish Civil War and the fighting in the Desert. I’ll stay out of your way.”
Somchai looked at him doubtfully, but orders were orders. “Then please take cover. Japanese tanks are coming.”
It was an odd fact. Perhaps the direction of the wind or the way sound reflected from the ground, but the squeal of metal as the tanks edged through the woods below was clearly audible, even through the howl of shells overhead and the rumble of explosions from the artillery bombardment of the Japanese landing force. The fluke sound effect lasted for only a minute or two. It was drowned out by another formation of dive bombers appearing.
Somchai watched them peel over and dive on the Japanese positions. Even at this distance, the sound of their dives and the wailing of the sirens fitted to their undercarriages drowned out everything else. They were concentrating on the artillery batteries, trying to eliminate them before the fighting really got started. For that, Somchai was profoundly grateful. This was going to be bad enough without the Japanese having their artillery operational as well.